


Chasing the Sun

by mouseratstan



Category: Parks and Recreation
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Character Death, Enemies to Lovers, Eventual Smut, F/M, Family Issues, Flashbacks, Gun Violence, High School AU, International Fanworks Day 2021, Mental Health Issues, Mommy Issues, Mystery, PTSD, Potentially Upsetting Content, Slow Burn, Underage Drinking, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-11
Updated: 2020-11-02
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:27:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 22
Words: 109,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24660778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mouseratstan/pseuds/mouseratstan
Summary: There are only three things in life that the students of Pawnee High School are sure of: they always have to chase raccoons out of the bathrooms, Mr. Swanson refuses to hold office hours for his classes, and student council members Leslie Knope and Ben Wyatt will always fight in the hallways and will never, ever get along.Everything comes into question, however, when Leslie Knope doesn't show up at graduation, and the rumors start. And Ben finds himself retracing every step from the last four years to find out what went wrong— and if they'll ever find Leslie again.
Relationships: Leslie Knope/Ben Wyatt
Comments: 294
Kudos: 219





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much to my perfect sunflowers Ness, Zi, Jordan, and Meg for being awesome betas for this story and helping me with finer details. You guys are the best.

“It's weird, I thought it would feel… different than this, you know?”

“I thought it would feel more like the end,” Tom says. “But instead it just feels like a regular day.”

“But with no homework.”

“That's implying I ever did homework anyway.”

The sound of scratching interrupts his friends’ casual conversation as Ben drags a coin across the splintered wooden table, unable to concentrate on anything else. Andy and Tom have been having this same conversation all day, around in circles, as if there's nothing else in the world they can possibly talk about. And Ben gets it— really, he does. It's their graduation day and everyone’s spirits are high and nobody knows how to act, but that doesn't mean he has to participate.

Really, he just doesn't want to think about it. He wants to pretend this actually  _ is  _ a regular school day and there is no graduation to look forward to tonight, because he needs that stability. It's how he copes. That, and scratching lines into the lunch table.

_ “Ben—  _ are you going to do that all lunch?” Tom snaps, his palm slamming in front of him. It makes Ben jump and nearly drop his coin. “It's annoying, man.”

“Sorry,” he mumbles, but he isn't sorry. Andy and Tom are his two closest friends, but that doesn't mean he has to feel bad. They're definitely annoying him more than he is them. “What were we talking about?”

“Graduation,” Andy adds. “Are you excited?”

Ben shrugs, shoving his coin into his jeans pocket. “I guess. It's kinda hard to think of it as  _ fun,  _ though, with all the work I have to do for it.”

Tom feigns a gag. “God, don't even remind me. I wouldn't have signed up for Student Council if I thought we had to set up our own grad.”

“Student Council has… always had to do that. How did you not know that?”

“I thought that was for the nerdier high up positions like you! Not the cool ones like me!”

Ben can feel the headache forming, and he shoves his annoyance away; this is just Tom being Tom. He’s used to this, he shouldn't get his tension out on him. “You're  _ Treasurer,  _ Tom. I really don't think it gets any nerdier than that.” Ben knows, he was Treasurer his sophomore year, and it was the epitome of nerdy.

Tom smirks, the typical Tom Haverford-smirk, and Ben doesn't even want to know what he's going to say next. “You mean  _ you  _ were a nerdy Treasurer. You were a Numbers Robot, but I get to specialize in  _ stacks on stacks on stacks.” _

Andy laughs and high-fives Tom, very easily amused. “Nice one, bro.”

Ben shakes his head, and goes back to picking at his food, trying to hide the tiny smile creeping on his lips, as if his friends can't know he actually likes them. “That's a Jean-Ralphio line if I've ever heard one,” he says, jabbing fruit pieces with his fork. “Is he gonna join us?”

“Are you kidding me? Hell no,” Tom scoffs, and Ben tries to hide his relief at this information. “As if he would come to school at all today. No, he's back at my place, setting up for the  _ party of the year.” _

“Dude, I am so excited,” Andy grins, pumping his fist in the air, and as much as Ben wants to hide it, he can't help but be excited too. “I meant to ask, you think I can sneak April in? I know she's just a junior, but—”

Tom waves a hand. “Don't even ask, Dwyer, ya girl’s always welcome at a Haverford-Saperstein party. Think she can get us the good stuff?”

“She's the best plug I know. I saw her use her fake the other week so she could get me a drink after my big game. Dude didn't even bat an eye!”

Figures, really, that April Ludgate is barely seventeen and even she is better at getting alcohol than all her senior friends, but Ben is long past questioning her. It's already a big enough mystery that the scariest girl in the school is dating Andy Dwyer, Pawnee High’s resident golden boy and star quarterback,  _ since the seventh grade.  _ But Ben just shook his head at the pairing when he was thirteen years old and he shakes his head now. 

“You're thinking about fifth wheeling again, aren't you, Benji?” Tom asks him, and Ben scrunches his nose up.  _ Maybe he was.  _ Maybe it's kind of annoying to be the fifth wheel through years of friendship, watching Tom and Andy have the time of their lives with their significant others while Ben is in a corner cradling a Miller Lite.  _ Maybe  _ it's kind of upsetting that they're partnering with Jean-Ralphio and April to walk at graduation and Ben? Ben is stuck with…

“He's thinking about You-Know-Who again,” Andy whispers to Tom. “Not Voldemort. But he's thinking about—”

“I'm not thinking about her,” Ben hisses, putting a stop to the conversation before it can even begin. “And I'm not thinking about fifth wheeling, either. Really, I don't mind it. I'm excited for tonight.”

Tom wiggles his brows. “You don't lie very well, Benji. Gonna try and get with a lady tonight? There’ll be plenty there…”

Ben bites his lip, brings his water bottle up to his lips to hide his smile. “Maybe. Who knows?”

“You totally should, man,” Andy nods. “I swear, I haven't seen you with a girl in like… ever. Since Cindy Miller, I think.”

“Ugh, don't bring up Cindy,” Ben sighs. “Miller  _ or  _ Eckert. And that was last year. I've dated since then.”

“Remember when you dated Shauna Malwae-Tweep?” Tom asks, laughing out loud. “If only she was still around, you could've totally boned her at my party.”

“What even happened to Shauna anyway?” Andy asks, scratching the back of his head. “I had English with her and then she stopped coming.”

They both look at Ben, who chokes on his water and holds his hands up. “Don't look at me! I dated her for  _ one month  _ back in  _ sophomore year.  _ She probably just dropped out. Lots of kids are doing that lately.”

“Stupid to drop out a month before graduation,” Tom says. “I mean, might as well stick it out at that point, right? The hardest is over with.”

“Do we have to talk about Shauna?” The last thing he needs is a reminder of all his failed relationships, especially on the night he  _ knows  _ he's going to be a fifth wheel. If he hooks up with any girl tonight, it'll definitely be more out of some kind of self-pitying, graduation-spiral than actual feelings. “Can't we talk about… college, or something?”

“Ugh, you  _ would  _ wanna talk about college on the last day of school,  _ nerd.” _

And thank god the bell for the end of lunch rings just then, because as much as Ben loves Tom, he really feels he could strangle him right now. He hoists his backpack up on his shoulder and waves goodbye to the two of them, not exactly looking forward to the next couple classes. With finals over with and no more assignments… it all just ends up being  _ dull. _

And it passes in a haze. Ben is barely there as he walks from class to class, going through the motions, pushing himself to do what needs to be done. He’ll have more to focus on the closer they get to graduation, and he’ll be happier when it's all over.

It's not exactly how he imagined his last day of high school would go. But he's bitter, damn it, and no amount of watching cartoons in classes will fix that for him. He's bitter because this was supposed to go  _ right  _ for him, tonight was supposed to be his moment. He was going to finally step up, as Vice President of Student Council, and actually feel like he was doing something worthwhile, something that made him feel on top of the world.

And not only did he lose that opportunity to  _ her…  _ but now he's stuck with her as his walking partner, too.  _ “Because you're Vice President, and she's President, it just makes sense!”  _ Principal Traeger had said when proposed the idea. It might make sense, but it doesn't make Ben any happier about it. It just feels like one more battle lost against her.

_ “Ow!  _ Can you watch it?”

And now it's just his luck that he  _ literally  _ runs into her in the halls as soon as school gets out.

“I didn’t mean to,” he mumbles, watching her as she stumbles backwards, rubbing her hand against the back of her head. He almost completely knocked her over, and some of her papers are spilling over onto the floor. “Do… do you need some help?”

“Not from you,” Leslie snaps. But as she bends down to pick up her books, the rest of her papers go flying, some completely down the emptying halls. The disaster causes her face to burn bright red, and she releases a groan of frustration, stomping her foot. “God— this is all your fault, Wyatt.”

Ah, there it is. Just the kick he needs.  _ “My fault?  _ I already told you I didn't mean to, I didn't do anything wrong.”

“When don't you? If you hadn't knocked into me—”

“Don't be an ass, Leslie,” he hisses, and her head snaps up so she can glare icy daggers at him. “I'm sorry, okay? What more do you want from me?”

“I—” she freezes, half her books laying haphazardly in her arms. “I'm sorry,” she sighs, her shoulders sinking and the tension leaving her. “I'm sorry, it's a tough day. Can you help me, actually?”

He's more than willing to, and he rushes down the hall to chase after the escaping papers. He gathers them against his chest and pushes them into her waiting hands. “Shouldn't you put all this in your backpack? Might help.”

She glares at him again. “I asked for help, not advice.”

He holds his hands up as if in surrender. “Woah there, Madam President, what's up with you today? You haven't been this angry at me in weeks.”

“Why do you care? No, seriously, what's it to you? Four years of hating each other and  _ now  _ you can't handle it? Now you're gonna act like the nice guy?”

“It's not like that, Leslie, you know that—”

“Don't call me that.”

“I— your name?”

She nods stubbornly. “My first name is reserved for friends only,  _ Wyatt.”  _

His headache flares up again, getting more impatient by the minute. This… this is exactly why he doesn't want to be stuck walking with her at graduation, let alone setting up the entire thing with her. His ideal situation would be going to graduation and pretending she wasn't there at all. “Fine!” he huffs, throwing his hands in the air. “Fine,  _ Knope.  _ If that's how it's gonna be. I was just trying to be nice—”

“Don't play that card. I hate it when you play that card. Being nice worked for a month before you started to resent me for something out of my control.”

“I have a right to my emotions, you know.” He does, he totally does. He is absolutely in the right here and he doesn't care if she's superior, pretentious  _ Student Council President Leslie Knope,  _ Ben has a right to be upset. “You know how much I wanted to do that speech—”

_ “Shut up, Ben!”  _ she yells, and she stomps her foot again as if she's a child. Her books and her papers are all back in her hands and she stands at her full height as if it might somehow make her more intimidating, as if she isn't tiny and scrappy and soft, as if Ben couldn't pick her up and hoist her over his shoulder with ease. “I didn't take that stupid speech away from you. I'm President, so it makes the most sense that I do. What part of that do you not understand?”

“If I had won President—”

“Well,  _ you didn't.”  _ Her eyes are filled with anger but there's a slight shake in her hands, clutching her books tighter to her chest as if it's the only thing keeping her together. Come to think of it, even her legs are wobbly, as if her knees might give out. And she's pale, like she's getting sick, growing faint. “You beat me enough times in elections over the years, and you have no right to complain. I won President because I deserved it, and I'm going to give the best damn speech out there whether you think I should or not. God, I— you're nothing but a jerk, you know that? You're  _ mean  _ and you're a jerk.”

And any other time Ben might have retaliated with his own insults in turn, sinking to her level, getting lower everyday, but there's something different about now. Maybe it's the way she's trembling, unable to stand still. Maybe it's the way her knuckles are red from holding on so tight. Or maybe it's the way her eyes are wide and wet, as if she's seconds away from bursting into tears.

His anger drops, and his voice softens, and he resists the urge to reach out and touch her. “Hey…” he whispers, and she winces at the sudden change. “Are you okay? You look like you're going to be sick—”

A classroom door opens around the hall, and Leslie jumps, spinning around. “I'm fine,” she insists, but everything about her suggests otherwise. “I'm fine, I'm… I'm super fine.” She pushes past him, checking his shoulder and shoving him back into a locker. “Just leave me alone.”

And then Leslie is gone, quicker than she's ever moved before, leaving Ben to lean against a locker in an attempt to process that encounter.

It has to be because of graduation, right? Leslie is irritating with how much she enjoys school and classwork and seeing her friends everyday, getting along with every one of her teachers, so it makes sense that the end of it all would bring a tear or two to her eyes. He figures it must be confusing, to be her, so excited to work on graduation but also so upset to see it happen. Of course it's enough to make her feel sick.

He shakes his head and pushes the thought away. It's time for their last Student Council meeting, so he’ll see her in a second anyway. And maybe, because it's the last day and he's feeling bad, maybe he’ll try to talk to her again. Work it out with her before they go off to college and all they have left is regret.

Ben sighs and kicks against the lockers. Graduation is turning him sappy.

He walks into the classroom reserved for Student Council meetings and takes a minute to allow himself to be just that— sappy. Student Council has mostly been four years of fighting Leslie Knope until it reaches explosive levels, but even then, he can't say he would trade the experience for anything in the world. It feels good to be a part of something, to be making change in the school, to participate in his first taste of government. And when he goes off to college at the end of the summer to graduate in political science, he's going to be really glad he did this.

He smiles softly at the classroom, at the small student body milling about and laughing together, and he feels a little better. He lets himself relax, roaming over to Tom and slapping his outstretched hand. “Hey man,” he says. “You’re here before me.”

“Because you're late,” Tom laughs. “You've never been late before, until the last day of school?”

_ Shit,  _ he's late? He hadn't realized how badly the time had gotten away from him until he looks at the clock to see he was supposed to be here five minutes ago. “I ran into Leslie in the hall. You know how that gets.”

“Well, that explains why she's  _ also  _ late.”

“Wait, what?”

“Yeah, she's not here yet. She's the last one.”

Ben being late is one thing, but Leslie? He doesn't think Leslie's been late for a single thing in his life, let alone a Student Council meeting on  _ graduation day.  _ He pictures her small frame curled on the bathroom floor, puking her guts out. She  _ did  _ look pretty sick…

“Leslie isn't going to be at today’s meeting,” comes a voice, and Ben swivels around to see Ron Swanson standing at his desk, enough to cut out the chatter immediately. “I sent her home.”

And that kind of irritates Ben, because he knows full well that Ron is the woodshop teacher and was forced into overseeing Student Council when he  _ despises  _ government, but is he going to go so far with it that he'll send their President home on the day they actually really need her? She has a speech to prepare, and they have chairs to set up, and—

“Do not question me on this decision, because I do not answer questions,” he says.

Ben gapes. “But, Mr. Swanson—”

“I said  _ no,  _ Wyatt,” he barks, and Ben shuts up immediately. “She wasn't feeling well. She's stressed, and she needed the rest. I suggest you all get prepared while we wait for Chris.”

Now it's Tom’s turn to groan. “Traeger is coming in? God, it's bad enough that—”

“Hello hello!” The door bursts open and Principal Traeger bursts in with a smile bright enough to be blinding. His arms are spread as if to embrace his students, but they all just sit there on top their desks, staring at him. “My lovely Pawnee High Student Council! How are we today?”

There's a collection of mumbled welcomes, nobody too enthusiastic, all of which Chris is oblivious to. He's so happy to see them that they could audibly say they were doing terribly and Chris would still be smiling. Ben pulls himself to sit on top of the desk between Tom and their Council Secretary, Jen Barkley, setting his notes in his lap. If he's lucky, Chris will make this quick and they can be on their way. Without Leslie here, they’ll have to work a lot quicker at setting up the football field for graduation.

“I am  _ literally  _ so happy to see you all,” Chris exclaims. “I've never had such a hardworking group of students as part of my council before. I can't wait to see how our underclassmen continue to progress, and to my seniors…” His voice starts to choke, getting ready to cry, and Ben sighs softly, hoping to have avoided this. “My seniors are going to do  _ amazing  _ things in college, and I will miss you, and I love you all so much. I only wish you were  _ all  _ here…”

“You'll see Leslie at graduation,” Ron grunts. “Wrap it up.”

“Of course. Ben Wyatt!” Chris claps near him, causing him to jump and nearly collapse into Jen. But Chris has his hand on his shoulder, steadying him with such a tight hold that it can only belong to a super-human like him. “Our Vice President. I'm very sorry you weren't able to do the graduation speech, I heard it meant quite a bit to you.”

The very last thing Ben wants to do is discuss the speech with Chris Traeger in front of the entire Student Council, and he looks at his lap to hide his frown. Every time he's reminded of it, it irritates him, and it's all he can do to push it back, smooth his sweaty palms on his jeans, and force a smile to his face. “It's no problem,” he lies. “I mean, I would've killed to do that speech, but… Leslie’s got it. She'll do great at it.”

And the worst part is, Ben has no doubt about that. He and Leslie might have their differences… four years worth of explosive and very public differences, to be exact, but that doesn't mean he thinks she's incompetent. No, he actually thinks she's incredibly smart, and passionate, and good at what she does. She's going to nail that speech and everyone will love her for it, Ben will ignore his jealousy and tell her good job, and they'll move on with their lives. Really, Ben has complete faith in her. Not that he’ll ever tell her that. Fighting with her is too fun to let go.

Chris pats Ben’s cheek, which makes him flinch. “I’m sure you had an absolutely lovely speech prepared, but I'm glad you're not upset. The faith you have in your friend is very admirable, Ben.”

He blushes furiously. “Oh, well, I wouldn't call her my friend—”

“Tom Haverford! Jennifer Barkley!” Chris has already moved on, leaving Ben stumbling over his own words and clutching his books too tightly. “My other seniors! I'm so proud of you I could  _ literally  _ burst!”

“Feel free to explode before graduation,” Jen mumbles, and Tom snorts.

“We really need to move this along,” Ron interrupts, already getting up to walk out the door. “I have a stage to stabilize and they have chairs to set up. Let's go!”

He barks the order, and it's enough to make everyone jump off their desks to their feet, scrambling along after Ron. Ben shoves his book away and catches up to Tom, nobody even once looking back as Chris shouts down the hall after them.

“I'll see you all at the ceremony!” he shouts, and once again you can hear the barely held back tears in his voice. “I love you all so much!”

…

It's an hour until graduation starts, and everything is chaos.

The stage is set and all the chairs are out, counted carefully to make sure there's one for every Pawnee High graduate. Tom is making sure everyone has their caps and gowns, Jen is talking to the band director, and Ben is ushering in students and getting them in their places, making sure they find their partners. The Student Council Sophomore and Freshman class Representatives, Jeremy Jamm and Bobby Newport, are standing at the entrance to the football field to give parents access, passing out programs and making sure no fights break out.

And Ben assumes everything is fine, because why wouldn't it be? He's doing his job, everyone else is doing their job, there's nothing to worry about. Other than the fact that the sun is beating down on him and he's sweating through his shirt and he still needs to change into his blue graduation gown. And he  _ knows  _ his parents are around here somewhere and god, that thought scares him enough to send him into a  _ cold  _ sweat.

He's almost vibrating with anxiety by the time his history teacher, Mr. Newport, comes up behind him and puts his hand on his shoulder. “Hey, bud, I'll take it from here, okay? You need to get ready.”

Ben releases a loud sigh of relief, so grateful for Newport that he swears he almost hugs him. “Thank you so much.”

“It's your special day, you need to enjoy it!” Newport smiles at him, but then stops Ben one more time before he can dart off to the gym. “Oh, one more thing— I think Mr. Swanson said he needed to see you, to send you over. I think there might be a problem with the speech?”

“The speech? I— what?” 

“Go! Go!”

Ben doesn't need to be told twice, because he knows if Ron is summoning him there must be an actual problem. And with the speech, too? He can't help but wonder if Leslie's alright, and he pictures her one more time curled over and throwing up into a toilet, and he starts to feel bad. If she's sick on graduation day…

Wait.  _ If she's sick on graduation day…  _ does that mean Ben has a chance at delivering his speech?

He runs up to Ron with an already hopeful look on his face, but it's dashed before it can even really begin. Ron doesn't look okay. Ron never really looks happy, but now… now he looks downright  _ worried.  _ “Hey, Mr. Newport sent me over. What's wrong?”

“Leslie’s not here,” Ron says, and it makes so little sense to Ben that he can't even properly respond.

“I— huh?”

“She's not  _ here.  _ She's late. And she hasn't so much as warned anyone. Has she talked to you?”

Ben points to himself, wide-eyed. “Me? Why would she—” But he scrambles to check his phone anyway, just out of curiosity, only to find messages from his mom and dad, his older brother Henry, who is warning him that their parents are on edge, and nothing else. “Nothing, sir. But I— I don't understand. I thought she was here, and practicing her speech.”

“Obviously if she was, you and I wouldn't be standing here having this conversation, now would we?” he snaps, and Ben winces. The anger in his voice is clear, and scares him, because it means  _ Ron  _ is scared.

But why would Leslie be late to graduation? It makes no sense, she's never been late to anything. Most times, she’s an hour early and waiting for everyone else, a fact that Ben has repeatedly found irritating and tried to beat to no avail. And she would never get lost, or preoccupied. Just the  _ thought  _ of Leslie forgetting about graduation makes no sense, not when he knows full well she has a countdown to the date on at least four different calendars.

“I…” It’s as if Ben has forgotten how to speak, because all thought flies out the window. He stares down at his shoes pressing into the grass of the football field, looks past Ron to see the chairs lined up, facing the stage. He hears the band start to warm up and the familiar, excited chatter of all his classmates preparing themselves for the start. He checks his watch. Only a half hour until start time, and Leslie’s not here, and Ben’s not in his gown. “Are we sure she's not with the other students?”

Ron looks about ready to scruff Ben by his shirt collar. “How dumb do you think she is, son? She knows full well she's supposed to meet with me and go over her speech timing. When’s the last time you saw her?”

He searches his brain, struggling to think properly, trying to conjure up blonde hair and that irritating voice and that thing she does when she wants to be intimidating where she looks him in the eye— “After school,” he gasps. “Before the Student Council meeting. She didn't look good. Do you think she's sick?”

“It's possible,” Ron mumbles. “She didn't look good when I saw her, either.” 

“Do… do you think she's gonna make it?”

“I couldn't tell you.” He checks his watch one more time, his brow furrowing and his mustache bristling. “You might have to do it.”

Ben chokes on nothing. “I might— what?”

“Your speech,  _ keep up, Wyatt.  _ If she doesn't come in by the time we start, you're going to have to do your speech. Are you prepared for that?”

And despite the fact that Leslie not being here is a strangeness on par with the actual end of the world, Ben feels his heart soar, his anxiety starting to lighten up. The idea of actually getting to do his speech… of being able to  _ prove  _ to his family and all his classmates that he's capable of things the President is (without freaking out at the idea of cameras)... it just makes Ben  _ happy.  _ He nods quickly at Ron, unable to help the smile on his face. “I… yes, sir. I've had the speech memorized for a while. I can do it.”

“Good. Get your gown on and get in your spot, and watch for Leslie.”

But Leslie is already far out of Ben’s mind by that point, gone completely by the time he runs across the field to grab his gown and shove his cap onto his head. He’s adjusting his tassel so it's on the right side by the time he joins his classmates, and suddenly, walking across the field by himself doesn't sound so bad. If Leslie doesn't show up and he has to do this all himself… well, he’ll just look like the guy who stepped up, right? This could be his  _ moment. _

_ Knope versus Wyatt, final round,  _ Ben thinks to himself. And when the band starts to play for their entrance and the clock strikes seven and Leslie Knope is nowhere to be seen, is it bad that he’s giddy? It's their final round, and he might have just actually  _ won,  _ on the most important day of all four years of high school.

He walks across the field as the band plays with no walking partner. She's still not here as he takes his seat, or when Principal Traeger gets on the stage for his opening remarks. And Ben isn't even listening, because he catches no flash of blonde hair, or the scent of whipped cream, and she isn't bouncing up and down in the seat next to him like she would be. He can't even focus on how strange that is, how terrible that is, as names start to be called, and parents start to shout from the audience, because suddenly Ben Wyatt is having the time of his life at graduation.

“Benjamin Walker Wyatt!”

He’s all smiles as he walks across the stage and shakes hands with Chris, pausing for a picture, taking his diploma. It feels good in his hands, not too heavy, feeling smooth and perfect and  _ his.  _ A sign that he's done it, four years are finally over, and after tonight he can say goodbye to Pawnee High School, with its raccoons in the bathrooms, Ron Swanson’s refusal to hold office hours, Chris Traeger’s ridiculous health initiatives, water fountain hygiene issues, and most of all, goodbye to Leslie Knope.

She can't torture him anymore, not after tonight. Not after this is over.

He can hear the crowd cheering, barely drowning out the sound of his parents (who are probably yelling loudly just to spite the other, he’s sure), and he's on some kind of high as he floats to the side of the stage, Ron holding him back to stay close by. He whispers something to Chris after only a few minutes, and he nods, looking between Ron and Ben.  _ Good lord, it's actually happening.  _

He feels as if he's actually floating when Chris ushers him up onto the stage, and in Ben’s mind is nothing but the words of his speech, over and over, and not Leslie Knope, definitely not Leslie Knope, even though it should be. Even though he should feel bad, and he should be worried, and his heart should be twisting in his chest, wondering what in the world could have stopped her from making it to her own graduation.

No, none of that is on his mind. Right now, he is selfish.

Chris smiles into the microphone. “I have the utmost pleasure of introducing to you all our Student Council Vice President, Benjamin Wyatt, who has some words to share with us all before he will lead us into our final moments. Take it away, Ben!”

Ben smiles, clears his throat, and takes a moment to look around the stadium. The lights shine down like spotlights, illuminating him and all the graduates in the dark of this June evening, and right now, he just feels strangely at peace.  _ He can do this.  _

“Pawnee High School,” Ben starts, and he revels in the sound of his voice projecting across the field. “I'd like to start by saying congratulations.”

And everyone is too distracted to notice it, but Leslie Knope never does show up.


	2. Chapter 2

Ben swears he's never been happier in his life.

Tons of people surge forwards as soon as the graduation ceremony is over, their caps thrown in the air, shouts of congratulations in his ears. Tom and Andy are clapping his back and shaking him, and classmates pass by him to tell him how much they loved his speech. It's dark and the lights shine on the stadium in a way that feels ethereal, like Ben is walking through the clouds, and the wind has picked up enough to feel nice on his skin.

“Dude, you actually got to do your speech!” Andy shouts, and normally Ben would cringe away at the volume, but instead he smiles, accepting the hugs.

“I did! Oh god, I— it was okay, right?”

“It was more than okay, nerd,” Tom chimes in, he and Jean-Ralphio wrapped very tightly together. “What the hell happened to let you do it anyway?”

“I don't know! Leslie never showed up!” Ben throws his hands up, his brain too fuzzy to think too hard about that exact sentence. “I can't believe my luck— hey, we’re gonna go get super drunk right now, right?”

Tom detaches from Jean-Ralphio to grab Ben, pulling him towards the parking lot. “Damn right we are. I convinced Donna to open up her place, too, and you know what that means—”

_ “HOT TUB!”  _ Andy screams, jumping up and down.

And, good god, nothing sounds better than some beer and a trip to the hot tub right now, so Ben quickly exchanges hugs with his parents, Henry, and his sister Steph, before waving them off to throw himself into Tom’s car. He's giddy, practically jumping up and down in his seat, tearing off his blue grad cap and gown at Tom’s instruction. For fashion’s sake, he says, despite the fact that Ben’s “plaid shirts can't be saved.”

The car ride is a quick one, filled with the boys and Andy’s girlfriend, April, shouting the words to whatever shitty song comes on the radio. Students are already showing up, already filling the streets, and Ben sees the extra merit in Donna opening up her house. Tom and Donna Meagle are neighbors, and close friends, and both of them have impressive houses, so when they know a party is going to get big, it only makes sense to open their gates and spread everything out. Like now, all the doors are open, and people are pouring out of their cars to get inside.

“Let's have a fun night and try not to break anything in Donna’s house, okay boys?” Tom says, pulling up into his garage to get out as fast as possible. “I do  _ not  _ need that girl screaming at me again.”

They get out of the car, and the very first thing Tom does when he gets inside is grab Jean-Ralphio’s hand and tug him towards the living room, where they've set up a place to DJ their very favorite music. The house is filling fast, so Tom is just on time as he grabs his microphone to speak over everyone.

“Tom-Ralphio is officially  _ in the house!”  _ he yells, and immediately screams fill the living room, like they're at some kind of concert. Jean-Ralphio leans over to kiss Tom, amidst even more screaming, and by the time Tom gets back to the microphone, he's blushing. “Let's get this all night grad party started!”

He blasts the music until Ben feels as if he's actually vibrating, pulsing in his ears, and he knows he's going to get a headache from it unless he gets alcohol in his system now. Thankfully, Andy and April are still around, so he can lean over to them before they escape.

“April!” he shouts over the pounding bass. “Which house is the beer in?”

“Ew, you're going for a beer first?” she snorts, looking him up and down. And seriously, she's quite possibly the only junior he could ever be intimidated by. “Don't be a pussy, Ben, take a shot.”

_ “Did someone say shots?”  _ Andy screams. “I want vodka!”

April smirks. “Donna’s house, babe.”

“Oh my god, let's go! Come on, Ben, you're gonna take, like, three shots in a row with me.”

Which is a terrible idea, really, but also… Ben just graduated high school, the music is loud, all his friends are here,  _ and  _ he got to deliver his graduation speech while all his classmates cheered for him… So really, why not get super drunk? Why not take three shots with Andy and then nurse a Miller Lite as he mingles?

A shot glass is pushed into his hand while Andy handles the pouring of his chosen strawberry lemonade vodka. Which feels like a bad idea, because Andy is definitely pouring too much at a time, but Ben just says  _ fuck it.  _ He clinks his shot glass to Andy and April’s and knocks it down, gagging at first at the burning in his throat. He's instantly reaching for a chaser, chugging some kind of dark soda, before April pulls it away from him. “We’re going again, try not to choke this time.”

The next two shots don't go down any easier (seriously, he knows he’ll do better once he's actually drunk) and he has to keep clinging to his soda as a chaser, causing April to just roll her eyes. He's waiting for it all to hit him, shaking his arms out, when April grabs Andy's arm and starts to pull at him.

“Come on, babe, Ben is being a weirdo and I wanna go make out and then hide in closets to jump scare people who wanna have sex,” she says, and Andy instantly lights up, tugging her towards a couch and practically getting on top of her right then and there.

Which, of course, leaves Ben alone, and not drunk enough yet to be properly social.

“Fuck it,” he mumbles, pulling a Miller Lite from the ice chest. No more shots, not yet, but this will be good. It's  _ his  _ drink, his familiar, and he's going to need it if he has to deal with—

_ “Wyatt!” _

_ Fucking hell. _

He spins around to meet that all-too-familiar voice, and there is Ann Perkins in all her glory, her hair a mess, makeup stains around her eyes, and clearly  _ incredibly angry.  _ She's short and she's fiery and most importantly, she's Leslie Knope’s best friend, which automatically makes Ann something of an enemy. 

Ben purses his lips and raises his beer to her. “Ann, hi,” he says to her. “Is there a reason you're yelling at me?”

She looks angry enough to shove him to the floor, but she settles instead for knocking his arm back to his side. “Because of Leslie, you dipshit. What the hell did you do to her?”

“What did I— excuse me?” He nearly spits his beer out, choking on it, staring at her incredulously. “What are you talking about? It's not my fault she missed her speech.”

“We all know how badly you wanted to do that speech, asshole, and you got it.” She's grinding her teeth, her fists at her side, and Ben is forcefully reminded of the first time he met her.  _ So protective.  _ “Where the hell is Leslie?”

“Okay, you need to calm down—”

_ “Don't you dare tell me to calm down, Wyatt!”  _ She’s yelling, loud enough now to attract attention from those closest to them. A couple conversations stop, looking over them, as if eager to find out if a fight will break out. It's not rare, at these parties. “Tell me what happened to my best friend, or so help me God—”

“How would I know anything?” He's playing a dangerous game, interrupting her again, but nothing she's saying is making any sense and he doesn't have the patience for it. He takes a long drink from his beer, feeling the need to be much less sober. These shots seem to be taking way too long to kick in. “Leslie and I don't talk, Ann.”

“Oh, don't give me that bullshit,” she spits. “I've heard enough about the two of you—”

Ben pales, and grabs Ann’s arm to pull her out of Donna’s house, slipping through the gates to get to Tom’s. He feels a little safer here, he knows the private spots better, and the music is pounding loudly enough here that if Ann starts to yell, no one will give them a second glance. No one will hear a thing. “Listen,” Ben hisses close to Ann’s ear, suddenly feeling lightheaded. “Listen, I don't know what you've heard, or what you think you know about me and Leslie, but I don't know where the hell she is. Shouldn't you know that? As like, her best friend?”

And that's when Ann starts to break down, that's the line that does it. Her shoulders slump and he has to hold her up by her arm, and Ben can't even tell at this point if she's sober or incredibly drunk. “That's the thing, Ben,” she whispers, and he has to strain to hear her. “She hasn't texted me once.”

***

**FRESHMAN YEAR**

The first time Ben Wyatt met Ann Perkins, it was because he made Leslie Knope cry.

And, as always, it started with yelling.

Ben found himself in Mr. Newport’s history class, and he knew where the day was going to go as soon as Newport announced that today was a debate day. He ran his fingers through his hair and stared down at his desk, while a couple feet away, Leslie was bouncing up and down in her seat. When he looked up, he met her eyes, saw the way she smirked at him, the way she wordlessly said  _ it's on, Wyatt.  _

_ Well, fine.  _ Leslie wanted to turn this into a competition? Ben could do that. Ben could  _ easily  _ do that.

It started simply enough, with the two of them raising their hands to make points towards the class. But after only a few minutes, that turned into them purposely countering the other’s arguments, until they were staring each other in the eye and no longer bothering to pretend that this wasn't something personal.

It got out of hand as soon as they realized they were standing.

“What's the matter with you?” Leslie yelled, shaking her fist at him. “Don't you have any kind of heart? Are you completely unfeeling?”

“At least I'm not naive,” Ben spat. “You need to look at things logically, you can't put a positive spin on anything—”

“God, you're depressing.”

“And you're hopeless!”

_ “Hey.”  _ Mr. Newport’s voice forced Ben and Leslie from their tiny war bubble, the two of them spinning around to face him. He looked tired, his eyes sad, worn down from the day already. “Class is about to end. I really need the two of you to get this rivalry under control. No more of this in class, okay?”

They paused, frowned at Newport, before mumbling in unison, “Okay.” It was an empty promise.

Because, of course, the second they shouldered their backpacks after class and escaped into the hallways with the other students, they were at each other again. And thank god it was lunchtime, because it gave them all the time in the world to yell.

“You're a jerk,” Leslie hissed as she tried to pass him, but Ben wouldn't let that comment get away so easily.

“Are you ever going to learn to let things go, Knope?” he called out to her, and she immediately froze, lunchbox in hand, spinning around to stare daggers at him.

“Oh, you wanna keep going,  _ Wyatt?”  _ There was no smirk on her face now, just anger, something that almost scared Ben. But he wouldn't back down now, or his brother Henry would never let it go that he let a girl as tiny as Leslie knock him around. “Because we can do this. Right here, and right now.”

“You're the one that started this! Don't ask  _ me  _ if I wanna keep going when you're the one that called me a jerk.”

She rolled her eyes. “Oh, that? I was just stating a fact, not starting any fights.”

“Holy— you are so incredibly…” Ben was at a loss for words, stopping to rub his face, push his fingers back into his hair until it stood up, making it messy, but he didn't care, he really didn't. He was so frustrated he felt like he could explode.

“So incredibly  _ what,  _ Wyatt?” she taunted him. “Wanna finish that sentence?”

And she was so angry for a girl with doodles on her sneakers, so upset for a girl who liked to wear overalls and bake cookies and say hello to everyone who walked past her. She was usually so bright and happy and it was only  _ Ben  _ who brought this side of her out, only Ben who could make her angry enough to snap. And maybe he was sick and tired of her calling all the shots while he wouldn't even toe the line.

“You're  _ insufferable!”  _ he shouted at her, and the words tumbled out of him before he could stop to really think about them. “God, you're a nightmare! It's honestly a miracle you have the friends you do, I couldn't spend even thirty minutes with you.”

The change in her mood was instantaneous. His words hit her like a slap across her cheek, and she dipped her head as if in physical pain. She burned bright red, took a step back, and for a moment, Ben thought she was going to pop right back up with a worse insult, striking back even harder, but that didn't happen. No, she was silent, and it wasn't until he heard a small sniffle that he understood what he did. 

She tried to hide it, tried to cover her face with her sweater sleeves, but Leslie was  _ crying. _

_ Shit, shit.  _ Ben didn't like Leslie, wasn't fond of her at all, but he never intended to do this. He wanted to toe the line, but this felt like completely crossing it. And what did one do with a crying girl in front of them anyway?

He was still staring at her in shock as she ducked her head and backed away, weeping softly, right into the arms of a brunette girl Ben didn't recognize. Well, he knew she was a freshman, like they were, and he thought he might have seen her around Leslie before…

“It's fine, Ann, you don't have to…” Leslie was saying to her friend, trying to get rid of her tears as quickly as possible. “He's not worth it—”

“Um, no, it is worth it,” her friend said. “No man gets to talk to you like that. No guy is gonna get away with that— HEY, BEN WYATT!”

Ben winced, wishing he could've ran at that point, but it was like his sneakers were glued to the hallway floors, freezing him in place, making this standoff inevitable. “Uh,” Ben coughed. “Who… who are you?”

She was walking quickly up to him, leaving Leslie behind them, shifting back and forth on her feet. This girl— Ann— didn't just stop right in front of Ben, either, but pushed at his chest until he stumbled, caught off guard. Her pointer finger pressed into his chest, and he couldn't move. “I'm the one who's going to  _ kill you  _ if you say that kind of thing to Leslie one more time, who the hell do you think you are?”

Ben was stupid. He was so, so stupid. “Um… I… I didn't mean to—”

_ “Stupid excuse,”  _ she hissed. “Leslie doesn't deserve any of the crap you put her through, you understand that? She's a  _ good person,  _ unlike you. And I swear to god, I'll be watching you. Because I will always be here for her.”

_ She's a good person, unlike you. _

Ben didn't see it then, but there was probably something to that.

***

**PRESENT DAY**

Ann’s phone is being shoved in Ben’s face, the brightness of the screen staggering against the dark setting of the party. She's scrolling through her texts, waiting, but it only takes Ben a moment to understand what he's looking at.

_ Oh my god. _

“She hasn't texted me once,” Ann sobs. “Not since last period earlier today. And she usually texts me about  _ everything.  _ I'm used to getting a text from her every thirty minutes.”

Suddenly, Ben doesn't feel good at all.

Those shots he took earlier hit him so suddenly it's like he's going to be sick, twisting in his stomach with this information, and he has to try his hardest not to panic. This is nothing.  _ It's nothing,  _ right? Leslie is definitely just really sick at home and sleeping too much to text Ann. That has to be it.

“Maybe she's sleeping,” he slurs, and Ann glares.

_ “Leslie never sleeps.” _

Ben sighs, pushing his hands through his hair, and that small action makes his head feel heavier, causing him to stumble slightly. The lights above look a little fuzzy, and… wow, okay, he can definitely feel the vibrations of the music in his chest. “Look, Ann…” he mumbles, and she grabs his arm in a death grip as he almost falls over again. “It's prolly nothing, kay? She's just… going through it. It's not even been a day, she's okay.”

“Oh my god,” Ann cries. “Oh my god, I'm going through a crisis and there's an actual problem and you're fucking wasted. Have I ever mentioned how useless you are?”

He smiles lopsidedly. “Every day, Perkins.”

She fully smacks his arm, and he stumbles backwards into the wall behind him, trying to blink himself back into reality. “What the hell happened?” Ann asks him, getting close to him, her eyes angry again, in that scary way they tend to. “You have to know something.”

“Why do you keep thinking that! What the hell would I know?”

“You've  _ always  _ had it out for her, did you say anything at all today to make her upset?”

This makes Ben pause, and he tries to search his brain through the alcohol and the music to get to his memories, vaguely remembering the conversation he had with Leslie when school got out. “I did see her,” he admits, trying to get down the details. “She looked upset. She looked sick, I know it. I know it, I know. I know.”

“You're fucking useless,” she tells him again, feeling the need to repeat it, before shoving him aside and marching past him. And for a moment, a brief moment, Ben thinks this night might go back to normal, because Ann is gone and the party's still going and he's bringing his beer to his lips in hopes to calm his stomach, when suddenly the music comes to a screeching halt.

The crowd in Tom’s bottom level shouts with objections, everyone twisting around and talking over each other to find out what's going on. The sudden lack of pulsing music in his ears is staggering to Ben, almost painful, his ears ringing in its wake, and he takes the opportunity to finish off his beer right as there's very  _ loud  _ microphone feedback, and then Ann’s voice loud enough for everyone to hear.

_ “Everybody listen up!”  _ she shouts, and Ben swivels around to see Ann with the microphone, clearly stolen from Tom, who's mumbling angrily to Jean-Ralphio in their DJ station. Ann doesn't care. Ann has clearly lost it. “Has anyone in here seen Leslie Knope?”

There's more mutterings, people shaking their heads, and the microphone trembles in Ann’s hands.

“Nobody? Anybody!” she's begging at this point, her voice cracking. “Short blonde, likes parks and whipped cream? Student Council President who was  _ supposed  _ to do the speech at graduation tonight?”

There's even more mumbling at this, as people seem to realize she's right, and Ben can hear his name being thrown around in the mix. He wants to run, to hide, but he's frozen in place. Ann is already crying. 

“She was supposed to do the speech!  _ She was supposed to be there!  _ She wouldn't skip graduation for nothing, people!  _ Did any of you fuckers realize she wasn't there?”  _ Ann is fully shaking, screaming into the microphone until even the people outside can hear her, her voice nothing but a high pitched shriek.

“Put the music back on!” someone shouts.

_ “WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU PEOPLE? Do you not realize— do you not understand—” _

“Oh my god, babe, stop. Stop, please.”

Jen Barkley rushes into the room from outside, looking relieved to have found Ann, but absolutely terrified at what she found Ann doing. Ann continues to scream unintelligibly into the microphone until Jen reaches her, and all it takes is a touch of her arm and Ann collapses, falling into Jen’s arms, sobbing into her shoulder. Jen touches her face, wipes the tears away, and hurries her off the small stage, out the room and over to Donna’s place.

There's a small pause, and everyone is silent, before Tom is back on the microphone.

“So sorry about that, everyone, Ann might've partied a little  _ too  _ hard tonight, if you know what I mean,” he laughs. “Should we get this party back up again?”

The crowd cheers, and screaming meets the next song choice, the bass hitting Ben so furiously he swears it's like he just got shot. Which reminds him:  _ shots.  _ His stomach is still twisting furiously but he doesn't like how uneasy he feels, can't shake the feeling that something is wrong, and this is supposed to be a celebration, dammit. This is supposed to be fun for him, so he can have a good time after graduating and getting to deliver that speech, and more alcohol will definitely make him feel better, right?

Thank god he finds Andy and April in the kitchen again, and they're more than eager to pour more vodka down their throats with him. And this shot really does go down easier now, sweeter like strawberries, and Ben totally doesn't even need a chaser anymore. He grabs the bottle, forgets all about his shot glass, and brings the thing to his lips, while Andy and April cheer him on in the background.

Ben really likes strawberry lemonade vodka.

He doesn't so much as choke when he brings the bottle back down after a couple seconds, jumping up and down to shake his jitters out. Andy high-fives him while April gets to work on downing one of the blue raspberry variety, and Ben doesn't even remember stumbling away from them until he looks up and his friends aren't in front of him anymore.

People are patting his back and he's wobbling on his feet and laughing at jokes he doesn't even hear, and at one point he's outside, just to be pushed back inside, and he thinks he's switching back and forth between Donna’s and Tom’s place, and he has no idea where he is until he hears a scream.

_ “If you bring that beer anywhere close to my Mercedes Benz—” _

Yeah, he's in Donna’s house again.

And he's wandering through dark hallways and the music seems to get quieter, some rooms filled with the sounds of soft moans and rocking beds. Ben is jittery and the beer in his hands feels a second away from slipping when he hears sobbing instead from a cracked bedroom door, and he finds himself inching closer.

“... I just don't understand what's going on, or where she is, and I don't know if I'm being paranoid…”

“Hey, it's okay, it's okay, I know it's scary.”

Ben peeks through the crack in the door to find Ann and Jen, curled in each other’s arms on the bed, while Jen rubs Ann’s back and whispers things into her ears. Ben vaguely realizes it’s weird, to see Jen like this, because she’s usually such a fiery hard-ass, but with Ann… seeing the two of them together, it's different. There's a different look in Jen’s eyes, her face looks softer.

“Do you think I'm being crazy?” Ann asks. “No one else seems to care, and I almost wonder if I am going crazy. If I do need to calm down.”

“You're not crazy, Annie,” Jen mumbles into Ann’s hair, and the nickname feels so intimate and personal that Ben suddenly regrets his eavesdropping, regrets sitting here watching them, but he can't move. There's so much alcohol in his system that he fears if he moves, he’ll tumble right into the doorway and be discovered, which would be so, so much worse than this.

“What do I do? I mean, this is wrong, right?” Ann is furiously rubbing her eyes and mascara is running down her cheeks, burying her face into Jen’s neck. “I'm not the only one seeing something is wrong?”

“No, babe.” Jen presses a kiss to Ann’s hair. “When she wasn't at our Student Council meeting earlier today, I thought something seemed off.”

Ann hiccups, pushing her head up. “Leslie wasn't at the Student Council meeting, even?” Jen shakes her head.

“Swanson said he sent her home. Said she was too worried about her speech, and that she needed a break.” Jen’s nose scrunches up in disgust, and that looks more like her everyday look that Ben is used to. “But even if Swanson told her to, when has that girl ever been known to willingly take a break? You'd have to lock her in a room and take her binders away to get her to stop working.”

“Exactly!” Ann exclaims. “I  _ have  _ had to lock her in her room before, just to make her sleep. And then for her to miss graduation, too… it makes no sense. Nothing in a million years would make her skip graduation, and I just…” She trembles, grabs Jen’s hand and holds it tight, and her next words are so soft that Ben strains to hear them.  _ “I'm scared.” _

_ I'm scared. I'm scared. I'm scared. _

Ben pushes away from his hiding place and slides down the hallway, feeling incapable of using his legs.

_ I'm scared. _

His stomach twists and his throat burns and he doesn't remember where he left his beer bottle, only that it's gone now, and his hands are shaking, and his head hurts so badly that the pressure is unbearable.

_ I'm scared. _

He's had too much to drink, and his fingers fumble with doorknobs until he finds the bathroom, pushing himself inside without even bothering to lock the door or even close it behind him. It's too much effort, he can't do it, he can't do a thing.

_ Because he's scared. _

Because suddenly so many things are coming together and he feels stupid, so fucking stupid, and his chest aches and he wants to rip his heart out. Everything makes sense and yet nothing makes sense. She was jittery, nervous, when he saw her at the end of school. She wasn't at their Student Council meeting. She didn't show up to her own graduation or say her own speech. She hasn't so much as texted her best friend in hours and she's definitely not at this party now.

The same Leslie Knope who wouldn't even miss class while she had a high fever and should've been in the hospital.

The same Leslie who spent weeks working on her speech and kept four different calendars to count down to graduation.

The same Leslie who texted Ann about everything, about every smile, every sweet treat, every stolen moment, every secret, every bug on the sidewalk.

_ Why the fuck isn't she here? _

Ben finds himself hunching over the toilet and retching all his guts out, as if trying to expel not just all the alcohol, but every negative feeling, every bit of paranoia churning in his stomach. His throat and his mouth are burning and filled with the taste of strawberry lemonade, and suddenly it's not so sweet anymore, just bitter and evil.

He hears footsteps behind him, occasionally voices, and from far away, the sounds of the music, the party still going somehow, as if the entire world isn't starting to crash around them. Somehow people are still continuing on when the world feels like it needs to stop, it needs to take a moment to realize that something might have gone terribly wrong.

There's more footsteps, but these ones don't hurry away. “Wyatt! I heard that you're— oh my god, boy, are you serious?”

It's Donna, and he remembers he's in her bathroom, but his throat burns too badly to make out an apology just yet. He simply heaves into the toilet, his arms shaking around him, the buzzing in his brain too loud and too terrifying.

“I swear to god, if you don't clean up after yourself… if you leave puke on  _ any  _ surface in my bathroom, I won't hesitate to snap you in half, rubber band.”

With trembling hands, he reaches for toilet paper, tearing off too much and wiping his mouth, gagging against it, feeling weak and gross and like he might actually cry. God, god,  _ don't cry. Don't be a sad drunk on top of everything else. _

He looks up at Donna, who's crossing her arms at him, shaking her head, and with a sudden burning question, he stops her before she turns to leave.

_ “Donna,”  _ he heaves, and she sighs loudly.

“Do you need water? Because that is  _ not  _ my job.”

No, no, but he needs to know. He needs to know if it is paranoia, if it's craziness, if it's something that can be shrugged off. He needs to know now, he needs another opinion, he needs to know before he's spiraling just like Ann and left wondering  _ what if. _

He needs to know because  _ he’s scared. _

“Donna,” Ben gasps, his voice hoarse. “Do you think it's possible something terrible happened to Leslie Knope?”


	3. Chapter 3

He hasn't even opened his eyes yet, and it's too bright.

He's also in pain, his arms and his legs sore, his back stiff, and he can't seem to stretch out properly. His head is fuzzy and pounding and it takes him too long to remember where he is, way too long.

Ben finds himself laying on tile— which would explain why he's so sore. His eyes crack open and he immediately just wants to collapse over and fall to sleep again, but he knows that's not an option, he knows it's time to get up. There's a toilet in front of him and the fluorescent lights burn, making him squint, worsening his headache.

_ “Fuck,”  _ he hisses, as it takes all his strength to push himself up onto his elbows, and then to sit up, his back resting against a bathtub. “Fuck.” Out of all places, did he really have to fall asleep in the fucking bathroom?

“Good, you're up, almost thought you were dead.”

Oh. That's right.  _ Donna’s bathroom. _

She stands in the doorway with crossed arms, looking fine herself, just a little irritated. She has every right to be, really. Could she even enjoy the grad party last night, or was she just too busy making sure nobody destroyed her house?

Ben finds himself at a loss for words, his hand coming up to his head to run through his hair. “Uh— why am I in your bathroom?”

“Ask yourself that question, Wyatt,” she snorts. “You fell asleep here. I couldn't move you. Didn't really want to try.”

“Oh god,” he mumbles, palming his face with his hands and squeezing his eyes shut. “I don't… I don't remember that. Did I really drink that much?”

“You had to have, you were acting real weird.”

“I was?”

“You don't remember what you said to me last night? Some cursed shit was coming out of your mouth, and not just the vomit.”

Ben searches his brain until it practically hurts him. He remembers… lots of flashing lights. The music pounding and the bass making his skull vibrate. He can see Ann, in the back of his mind, yelling at him, getting up on stage and causing a scene, until her girlfriend Jen had to come and collect her. But from there… he knew he took more shots, but was it really that bad? He doesn't remember the last time he got so drunk he couldn't remember something. “I don't remember,” he admits, feeling defeated. “At least, I don't remember what happened by the time I got into the bathroom.”

Donna looks him up and down, surveying him, as if deciding if it was worth telling him. Finally, she sighs. “You kept going on about Leslie. You don't remember that?”

_ Oh god, Leslie.  _ “I didn't… I didn't say anything embarrassing, did I?”

“Oh, it was all embarrassing, for you. You kept asking me where she was. If she was okay. At one point you were slumped over the toilet and just kept saying her name—”

Ben hits his head. “Good lord—”

“But you got… scared, at one point. Almost like you were sober. You looked me in the eye and you asked if it was possible anything bad happened to her. I didn't know what to say to that one.”

And it hits Ben, it hits Ben so hard he feels like he might vomit again.

_ Donna. Do you think it's possible something terrible happened to Leslie Knope? _

***

**JUNIOR YEAR**

Ben crossed his fingers behind his back with bated breath, waiting for the Student Council results. 

He wasn't the only one, either, and he chanced a glance across the way to Leslie Knope, who stood up straight as if she was confident, but he knew her better than that. He could see the sweat break out on her brow, the way she was gently rocking back and forth on her heels, and how her hands were clasped behind her back, probably wishing for luck the same way Ben was.

This… this election, it probably meant too much to Ben and Leslie. They'd been neck in neck campaigning the last couple weeks, knocking each other down, playing dirty, angrier at each other than they had been in a long time. It was intense, and harsh, and Ben’s throat felt raw just at the idea of yelling again, and really, he was ready for this all to be over.

But the election was just the beginning. Whoever won this would win  _ Knope versus Wyatt, round three.  _ Or, at least, they would get a leg up in the competition for the rest of the year.

Leslie met Ben’s eyes, and she glared. He didn't hesitate in returning it.

“Announcing Pawnee High School’s Student Council Vice President, the winner is…” Principal Traeger waited, looked around the room with a giddy smile, as if expecting some kind of drumroll, and Ben’s breath caught in his throat.  _ “Ben Wyatt!” _

Instantly, relief flooded through him, his shoulders relaxing, lips spreading into a smile. He won, he actually won.  _ He beat Leslie Knope to Vice President.  _ There was cheering all around the gymnasium and he had never felt prouder of himself, never felt better about being the center of attention. Chris pat his back with such vigor he almost fell over, and Ben reveled in the glory for a moment, just a moment, before he remembered the best person to gloat to.

Leslie's face had fallen, looking smaller than he was used to her looking. Her fists were clenched so tightly he imagined her nails must’ve been digging painfully into her palms, but the scariest part was that  _ she wouldn't stop staring at him.  _ Not exactly with anger, no, but without much emotion at all, as if it hadn't quite hit her yet.

Ben grinned, and started walking over to her, a little too cocky in his movement. “Oh, hey there, Knope,” he said, as if he had only just spotted her. “I don't know if you heard, but I just—”

And she didn't let him finish. Not with her own yell, or a snarky comeback, like he was expecting, like they had been doing for weeks now. No, she didn't explode on him at all, but instead, did something he never thought she would ever do— she just walked away.

Leslie spun on her heel in the middle of his sentence and walked away from him, getting quicker the closer she got to the gym doors. She didn't once look back either, just dipping her head and leaving, and it was so uncharacteristic of her that Ben just stood there, mouth open and completely dumbfounded.

And the worst part was, his first thought?

_ Did I hurt her? _

_ Is she okay? _

Because for once in her life, she didn't show up to their next class. Usually, Ben would consider this a victory all on its own, staring at her empty desk across from his, but instead it just made his gut twist. He didn't want to feel guilty, but he wondered if it was his fault. If he did something to her besides winning, if she hated him, really and truly hated him.

Ben was being ridiculous. They always hated each other.

He sat at lunch with Andy and Tom, his knee shaking, only picking at his food. He stabbed his fork into the calzone he brought from home, not even feeling up to eating that, which was so uncharacteristic that his friends looked at him strangely.

“What the hell is up with you, Benji?” Tom asked him, folding back his shirt sleeves to crisp perfection. “You look like you're about to snap.”

“Yeah, dude, there's this sad vibe,” Andy agreed. “Shouldn't you be happy because you won that weird government thing?”

Ben sighed, pursing his lips. “Vice President. And I'm fine, really, I am really happy I won that.”

“Then why are you stabbing your calzone?”

“Not that it doesn't deserve it,” Tom smirked. “That calzone is better off in the trash.”

Ben chose to ignore that dig, and cut off a piece of his calzone if he was going to eat it. But he couldn't even bring it to his lips, his stomach was twisting too badly. “I just…” He groaned, and already hated the words that were about to come out of his mouth. “After I won, I went to go over to Leslie to rub it in her face, you know? But she didn't even say anything, she just turned and walked away.”

Tom and Andy both laughed, Tom holding up his hand for a high-five that Ben wouldn't participate in. “Dude, nice! You left her speechless! That sounds like a win to me.”

“Okay, but it's not. At least, it doesn't feel like one. You know, it's not that fun when she doesn't fight back.”

“What's it matter to you, anyway?”

“I don't know,” he said, throwing his fork down and putting his face in his hands. “I'm just kind of… worried. She didn't show up in class. Do you think she's okay?”

Tom and Andy both stared at him dumbfounded, Andy’s jaw dropping and Tom’s hand still hanging awkwardly in the air. Ben shook his head and immediately started to pack his lunch up.

“You know what, forget I said anything,” he said. “It's stupid.”

“You… You're asking if Leslie Knope is okay? Dude, do you even hear yourself?” Tom asked, finally lowering his hand. 

Andy grinned, and threw a napkin at Ben. “Yeah, you got a crush on her, or something?”

“Oooh, Benji’s got the hots for  _ Leslie Knope.  _ He's worried because he  _ misses her.  _ You trying to get in her pants?”

“Oh my god—  _ no,”  _ Ben moaned, and his face burned bright red. He shoved the remainders of his lunch in his backpack so he could make a quick escape if necessary, if he couldn't shut this down. “No, I don't— I… I’ve never, about her…”

“Dude, you're blushing like crazy,” Andy laughed. “You look like April does when I—”

_ “Don't you dare finish that sentence,”  _ Ben hissed, holding a hand up. “I don't  _ like  _ Leslie. She's… she’s my enemy!”

Tom was still grinning, leaning forward on his elbows. “So you're saying you've never once thought about it? Having sex with her?”

Ben flinched, moving his hands to cover his ears. “No! And I don't… I don't wanna think about it, either.” He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, and moved to adjust his pants, just slightly. There was certainly one reason why he didn't want to think about this in public. “I've never— she's not even my type. I go for brunettes. She's short and blonde and a pain in the ass and everything I'm not into. I swear, I’ve never once even thought her attractive.”

Tom shook his head, clearly not looking convinced, and Andy just snorted. “If you don't think she's attractive, then you just don't have eyes.”

It was enough to be the last straw— Ben certainly didn't want to slip up and say something stupid. He pulled his backpack to his shoulder and walked off, figuring he would study until his next class, anyway. Maybe even walk by Leslie's locker… just to see if she was around. Only to make sure that she was okay.

But she didn't show up for the rest of the day. Not in any of the classes the two of them shared together. And every hour, his stomach twisted more and more, a bitter taste in his mouth, until he was convinced that she wouldn't show up at their Student Council meeting at the end of the school day either. She was still Secretary, so she  _ should  _ be there… but would she, after losing Vice President?

But Ben very quickly learned not to underestimate Leslie Knope.

He had barely settled into a desk for the Student Council meeting when the door slammed open, and there she was, nothing at all like the picture of sadness she was earlier. No, somehow Leslie looked  _ brighter,  _ her hair pulled from her face, her backpack and her arms full of books and binders.

“Hi, team!” she chirped, and Ben stood, staring at her, completely stunned, as she threw her binders down on to a desktop. “It's  _ so  _ great to see you all. I have  _ so many  _ new ideas for this year, I filled up tons of binders. So, I think first, we should talk about—”

She prattled on, and no one stopped her, even though she wasn't supposed to be heading the meeting. She was just so bright, and full of energy, and larger-than-life, and Ben didn't know why he doubted her in the first place. She was never down for long.

Watching her, Ben actually started to smile.

***

**PRESENT DAY**

“Wyatt, what is your problem? It's like I'm talking to someone who isn't even here.”

Ben snaps out of his reverie, pulling his hands from his hair to reveal that they're shaking almost violently. It's all coming back to him now, every bit from last night. Not just Ann accusing him of doing something to Leslie, but the fact that Leslie isn't here at all. How she hasn't even texted Ann, her best friend. How Ben saw Ann and Jen huddled together, talking about what this could mean, how scared they were, and how scared Ben was.

And it hits him now that, in the cold, sobering light of day, he's still scared.

“You look like you're going insane,” Donna adds, snapping her fingers in front of his face. “Do I need to slap sense into you?”

And he knows Donna will absolutely hit him, so he forces himself to fully wake up, grabbing the edge of the tub to pull himself up. “Oh god, no— I’m okay. I swear I'm okay.”

“You sure? You're not going to spout some weird shit about Leslie again?”

Her name leaves a funny feeling in his throat, and he chokes it down, shaking his head. “I'm not. I— I swear. There's nothing there.”

It's such a lie.  _ Such a lie.  _ But what else is he supposed to tell her without risking looking just as crazy as Ann Perkins?

“Thank god,” she says. “Your boys are waiting downstairs for you.  _ Not  _ as much of a mess as you are, but still pretty gross. And I need y'all to get out of my house.”

He walks with Donna to the doorway, where Andy has his arm around April, and Tom is practically passed out in Jean-Ralphio’s lap. Nobody looks good, sweaty and exhausted and squinting, rubbing their eyes and groaning. Ben supposes he can't look any better, though, and he tries to flatten his hair self-consciously. 

“Y'all are the last ones here. Get them out of here, Tom,” Donna says, shoving at Tom, who wakes up with a start, falling off of Jean-Ralphio and onto the floor. “I'm serious. Say your goodbyes and get out. I've had enough of y'all for at least a week.”

“Oh, Ben’s here,” Tom mumbles, rubbing his face and pulling himself back up to his feet. “Where’d you run off to last night, man?”

“Oh, it doesn't matter,” he mumbles, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Can we go?”

“Did you  _ get some?” _

“Good lord, no— I didn't. Let's just… let's just go.” Ben turns to Donna, and, in a move he doesn't even see coming, he holds his hand out for her to shake. “I'm sorry, about everything,” he tells her. “For the vomiting and the weirdness, and… everybody. It's probably hard, to host this kind of party at your place, and we don't give you the credit you deserve. So… I'm sorry, and thank you.”

Everyone stares at him, and it takes Donna a while before she accepts Ben’s handshake. She looks him up and down, as if expecting him to take it back. “So, Mean Ben is feeling a little nicer the morning after, huh?” she says, and Ben chokes.

“Mean Ben? Is that what people call me?”

Donna smirks. “It's what your girl calls you.”

“Wait, what? My girl? Who do you— oh.”  _ Oh. Leslie calls him Mean Ben.  _ Yeah, he should've expected that one. “Well… anyway. We’ll get out of here now.”

They all wave goodbye, Tom and Jean-Ralphio spinning around to head to Tom’s house next door. Ben, meanwhile, slides into the backseat of Andy’s car, a little nervous about Andy’s driving in this state, but he supposes there are worse options. Better Andy than him, or April, who likes to drive over the speed limit way too often for Ben’s liking.

And Ben is very content to just curl into the backseat until he gets dropped off at his house, but it seems Andy has other plans.

“So, what was that all about, man?” he asks, sneaking a look at him through the car mirror.

“With Donna. And last night. You totally disappeared.”

“Yeah,” April adds, picking lazily at her cuticles. “You took a bunch of shots with us and then totally dipped. I was hoping you got lost or died.”

Ben sighs, shutting his eyes. “Gee, thanks, April. I was just… I got too drunk. Ended up in a fight with Ann—”

“Ann Perkins? Ew.”

“Yeah, Ann Perkins. I got into a fight with her and things were said, and I got too drunk and threw up in Donna’s toilet.”

“Better than the bushes,” Andy laughs, sounding proud. “That's where I threw up. But don't tell Donna that. Is that why you were being all nice to her?”

Ben shrugs. “I mean, yeah. I felt bad. Why does it matter, is it weird to be nice, now?”

“For you it is, maybe,” April says, and Ben blinks, his head shooting up. “Full offense, but you can be kind of really lame, Ben.”

“Lame is one thing,  _ not nice  _ is a totally different thing.”

“Fine,” she snaps. “You're bitter. Like, all the time. All you've ever cared about is beating Leslie at things, and sometimes it makes you mean.”

Ben bites his lip. “Please— don't bring up Leslie.”

“Why not, are you gonna get a boner?”

_ “Good lord,  _ no,” he groans, and more than anything he wishes he was home already so he could crawl into bed and pretend nothing is real for a couple hours. “That's… that's gross, April.”

“Whatever. You being nice to Donna was still weird.”

Ben doesn't fight this, and they drive the rest of the way to his house in silence. Andy and April will occasionally touch each other, or make the other laugh, or exchange looks, and Ben will fear that Andy isn't keeping his eyes on the road, but he's also been in their car enough by now to know them, that this is just what they do. And somehow no one has gotten hurt yet, so…

In the quiet of the backseat, Ben finds his thoughts drifting to Leslie once more. He can't help it, not when April just brought her up like it was nothing, and she plagues his brain in the worst possible way. He had hoped that his worries over Leslie had just been a drunken reaction to Ann’s panic, but now, he knows that's not true. He knows that if Ann is freaking out as badly as she is, there could be a real and true possibility that something's happened to Leslie… that she's not okay.

And for whatever reason, that thought makes Ben feel like he's going to throw up again.

His strange niceness doesn't seem to end with Donna, either, as now he's feeling bad for the way he treated Ann last night, like she was crazy and paranoid over her own best friend. Because the truth is, Ann knows Leslie the best out of everyone, so if Ann is upset, and scared, shouldn't everyone be? 

_ Oh, god.  _ Ben really screwed this one up.

Andy pulls into Ben’s driveway and parks, twisting around in his seat to say goodbye to him, but Ben speaks up before he can get the words out.

“Um, hey, I actually have a quick question,” he says, wiping his palms on his pants. “It's about Ann.”

“Ew, I don't wanna talk about Ann,” April adds, but Ben ignores her.

“Andy, you have her number, right? Because of that project you guys were paired up for last year?”

Andy scratches his head and looks sideways at April. “Uh, yeah, I think so. Why?”

Ben knows it's kind of a sensitive topic to breach around April, because she's always been a little strange about Andy and Ann. Jealous, really, is probably a better word for it, and Ben remembers too vividly the fights April would start last year when she was convinced something was going on between Andy and Ann. Despite the fact that Andy only has eyes for April, and of course, the fact that Ann is a lesbian. Not that that tidbit mattered to a jealous April.

“I just need to message her about something. If you could give me her number. It's… kind of important.”

It's a miracle, really, that neither of them question him any further, and Andy pulls up Ann’s contact so Ben can program it into his phone. And when he hits  _ save,  _ it already feels like the point of no return. Now he has to message her, he has to know. He's in a little too deep.

Ben says goodbye to Andy and April and slips into his house, and for the first time, he's incredibly grateful that he can hear the sounds of yelling coming from the kitchen. The last thing he needs is for his parents to find out he was out all night getting drunk, and that he's hungover now, so he figures if they're arguing again, he can sneak past them and get to his room before they even notice he's there.

He very carefully shuts the front door behind him, wincing at the effect the yelling has on his head. He slides over to the stairs, hoping his footsteps aren't too loud, moving as quickly as possible without making a scene. Not that it works.  _ Of course. _

“Ben!” his mother yells, and Ben freezes in place, scrunching his face. “Where have you been all night?”

He sighs quietly, bringing his hand to his pounding head. He really just needs sleep and water. “Tom’s place, Mom. I told you about the grad party.”

“Did you drink? You didn't have sex, did you? Were you respectful and help clean up? Were other people drinking?”

“Oh, don't act like you care, Julia,” Ben’s father groans. “You're just pretending to be a good mother.”

And honestly, Ben is inclined to agree with his father. There's no way his mom really cares— and there's definitely no way he's going to start talking about drinking and his sex life with his mother. “No, Mom, I—”

But he doesn't get a word in edgewise. “Oh, that's so like you to think, Steve. Look at him! You're hungover, aren't you?”

Ben winces. “No, I—”

“He is! He looks sick and he keeps grabbing his head. He's still in his clothes from last night. He was  _ drinking!” _

“Maybe you drove him to it,” his dad snorts, and she gasps.

_ “You—  _ you need to get your son in line. You need to get on my page, for once, and understand where I'm coming from. It's not okay for him to drink.” His mother turns to look at Ben just once, pointing a finger at his face. “And  _ you.  _ You're grounded. For a week.”

Okay, Ben couldn't let  _ that  _ one go. “Wait, what? Why? I  _ just  _ graduated, Mom, and you're immediately going to ground me?”

“Keep going like this, and I'll make it longer.”

His dad just starts laughing, and never once even looks at Ben. “This is how you discipline your kid? No wonder he's drinking…”

And, once more, Ben is invisible. They turn on each other and it's all loud voices and screaming and pointing fingers and blame, just like it has been his whole life. Just like Ben is used to. And grounding him… it definitely pisses him off, but the fight and the punishment was never really about him anyway. They talked about him, sure, but they were always only arguing with each other. Every little thing turned into a way to yell at the other. Frankly, it's a miracle the two of them are together. Ben is just counting down the days until they finally snap and the word  _ divorce  _ ceases being a threat and becomes finalized.

They don't even notice when Ben turns away and finally makes it into his room, slamming the door behind him.  _ A clear mistake,  _ because his head suffers for that immediately, white hot pain searing behind his eyes. He grabs his head and feels it pounding under his hands, collapsing into his bed, just trying to be okay again. But the anger, it's filling him up, not making the headache any better, until it's unbearable.

He hates that he's crying. He shoves his palms into his eyelids as if to push the tears back in, like they never existed. He feels like he's losing his mind, too many thoughts in his head, building and building until his brain will just burst, and he’ll explode, and there will only be pieces of him left to clean up.

_ Donna. His parents. Andy and April. Tom and Jean-Ralphio. Ann Perkins. _

_ Leslie Knope. _

It's too much, it's all too much. More than anything, he already wishes he could forget it all, especially Leslie Knope. This kind of anxiety isn't one he's a fan of, and if he never met Leslie to begin with, it would be much easier now, wouldn't it?

At the very least, he should've stopped himself from starting to care about her. That was really where he went wrong. It was safer, staying enemies.

As soon as he can open his eyes again without feeling like his head will explode, Ben grasps for his phone, clicking on Ann’s name and sending the first text he can think of. There's no room for overthinking right now.

_ ‘Hey Ann. It's Ben Wyatt. I wanted to check in and see if you were okay.’ _

And, two seconds after that text is sent, he sends another, because it doesn't feel like enough, because he can't stop himself from typing her name.

_ 'Did Leslie ever get back to you?’ _

Then he throws his phone down on his bed and he waits, because it's all he can do. It drives him crazy, remaining stagnant, feeling blind, unaware of what's going on around him, and it makes his head spin in a way that can't be healthy. He's overthinking, imagining every worst possible scenario. Leslie’s not okay. She never got back to Ann. She ran away, she's gone, he’ll never see her again.  _ He’ll never see her again. _

_ No.  _ No, he can't think like that. He's being ridiculous. His headache and his hangover and his anger at his parents are all getting to him and making him overreact again, and there's no room for that. Ann probably isn't answering him right now because she's with Leslie at her house, laughing together over how panicked Ann was, sharing a perfectly reasonable story as to why Leslie never showed up to her own graduation.

But then his phone chimes, and he races to grab it, his heart in his throat. The message is short.

_ 'It's not okay.’ _

Ben chokes at the message, and he doesn't even give himself time to process it or what it could mean before he’s hitting the call button next to Ann’s name, bringing the phone to his ear, the ringing taunting him the longer it goes on.

“Please pick up, please pick up,  _ please pick up,”  _ he whispers, over and over again, the desperation thick in his tone. And just as he thinks he's going to have to call again, he hears Ann’s voice.

“Ben?” she asks, and her voice is thick with emotion. She's clearly been crying. His heart drops in his chest. “Ben, I just—”

“What's wrong?” he interrupts her, rushed. “What's not okay? What's going on?”

Ann sniffles, and he can hear her doubling over with sobs again. His heart rate increases, the panic picking up. “Ben, I’m at her house. I talked to her mom. She… she never came home from school that day.”

“She… what?” He imagined she was  _ at least  _ at home, hiding away from everyone, that she had to have some reason to want to stay away. If she's not at home… “Where the fuck is she?”

It's a long time before Ann can answer him, trying to speak through the sobbing, trying to get the words out so he can understand. And the worst part is, he already knows. He knows in his gut what Ann is about to say, what's happened to her, but he still wishes that it isn't true, that she won't say it. Because if she doesn't say it out loud, he can pretend it's not real. If she doesn't say the words, then it hasn't happened at all.

“Nobody knows where she is,” Ann whispers, her voice shaking. “We’re filing a report. Leslie is officially a missing person.”


	4. Chapter 4

**FRESHMAN YEAR**

Ben gripped the straps of his backpack with both his hands, so tightly it burned. His knuckles turned red and his knees were starting to shake a little, swaying back and forth on his feet.

High school looked  _ huge. _

It was his first day and he stood outside the doors with bated breath, trying to force himself to  _ just walk in.  _ It couldn't be that big a deal, right? All those shows and movies he watched where freshman nerds like him were dunked in toilets and shoved into lockers… that couldn't be real, right? 

Either way, he resolved he would have to harden up. Maybe keep his nerdier side on the down low. Just to be safe. Maybe then he could pretend to be cool.

“What d’you look so nervous for, dude?” Andy asked him, and for a moment, Ben had forgotten he was next to him, flinching at the sudden conversation.

Ben stared at his sneakers. “I mean… it's our first day. How are you  _ not  _ nervous?”

Andy Dwyer had been Ben’s best friend since the seventh grade, just as Ben had thought he might never make a real friend. And Andy was always popular, too, friends with everyone, so Ben kind of felt  _ cool,  _ in Andy’s shadow, hanging around with him. Even more so because Andy never forgot about Ben. He always put Ben first in his friendships, inviting him to every hangout with the more popular kids, and he never cared that Ben didn't fit in as well as him. So now… it made Ben feel incredibly grateful that he got to come in to high school with Andy, too.

Andy shrugged his shoulders. “I dunno. I mean, I'm a little nervous, because April isn't a high schooler yet so she's not here, but at least I've got you. It'll be kinda fun. Like a super awesome adventure into the unknown— with Burt Macklin.”

Ben groaned at the mention of Burt Macklin. “Is that what this is gonna be? Macklin all day?”

“Duh. Sucks that we don't have Janet Snakehole. But we can make do with  _ The First Day of School: Starring Burt Macklin and his tiny sidekick, Municipal Bond.” _

Ben shut his eyes and sighed, bringing his hand to his brow. “We’re bringing Municipal Bond back? And…  _ tiny?  _ Sidekick?” Ben was the one to come up with the nickname in the seventh grade, but that didn't mean he wanted it to make a comeback  _ now. _

Andy laughed, loudly and full of joy, clapping Ben on the back. “I mean, compared to  _ me.  _ Your first mission, Municipal Bond, if you choose to accept it— walk through these school doors.”

“Fine, fine. I… choose to accept it.” 

He didn't want to, but he did anyway. And it was overwhelming, really, much more so than just standing outside the building and looking at it. Students were everyone, many much bigger and taller than Ben, some with full beards and car keys in their pockets and girlfriends on their arms. There was so much laughing, shouting, pushing around, the sound of lockers creaking open and slamming shut.

“Good lord,” Ben muttered, watching in awe. “I think I hate it here.”

But Andy was gasping, practically jumping up and down on the balls of his feet. “Dude! This is going to be  _ awesome!  _ It looks so cool here, so many awesome people, cool places to hang out—”

“Uh, you do realize we actually have to go to class, right? This isn't just some big party?”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. I love it here!”

_ Fitting, really,  _ Ben thought. This was going to be tough, and school hadn't even fully started yet. He said goodbye to Andy, who was practically running through the hallways (Ben was sort of terrified Andy wouldn't even find his first class), and then set about on his journey to find his locker. Which, of course, took multiple tries to open.

“You look like you're struggling a little,” said a voice behind Ben, as he was pulling on the locker handle to no avail. “Do you need help?”

He turned and looked down at a very short blonde, her arms crossed over so many books and binders that he was surprised she wasn't completely hunched over. Her eyes were wide, looking up at him, and something about them made Ben swallow hard.

He nervously ran his hand through the hair on the back of his head. “Uhh, yeah, actually, if— if you wouldn't mind.”

The girl pushed past him and dropped her books into Ben’s arms, and even he immediately sagged at the weight of them, stumbling and struggling to get a good grip on them. All while her nimble fingers expertly started working on his locker. “What's your code?”

He felt a little weird telling her, because isn't that something you're supposed to keep quiet? What if she remembered and came to steal things from his locker later? What if she told someone else his code and then everyone in the school had it? Oh god, maybe he shouldn't leave any valuables in his locker. Just in case. He took a deep breath and told her the code, watching her fingers again as she spun his tiny blue lock,  _ clicking  _ it open as if it was nothing, his locker now swinging open. The girl spun around, grinning widely, and did a tiny bow.

Ben grinned and hoisted the books up against his chest. “Wow— I… I would applaud you, if I could use my arms right now.”

“Oh— right! Sorry about that…” She started taking books and binders back from him, shoving some into her oddly  _ already very full  _ backpack, and keeping others in her arms as if it meant nothing for her to carry them. But god, she was so  _ tiny…  _ “These lockers can be tricky, so don't worry about them. It's just a matter of getting used to them.”

And Ben just couldn't stop staring blankly at her, because there was no way she was older than him, was she? If she was already used to the lockers… “Um, are you not a freshman?”

She giggled, and the sound prompted a tiny smile from Ben, one he couldn't help. “Oh, I am a freshman. I just do a lot of clubs here. Chess, drama, debate, mock trial, even the  _ Harry Potter  _ club. So I was here a lot during middle school and over the summer.”

He stood, staring open mouthed at her, just trying to process the image of her in every single one of those clubs. This tiny girl, in clubs amongst high schoolers. Was she even real, or was she messing with him? “Um, they let you do that? You know… join those clubs, when you didn't go to school here yet?”

“Well, they're not really supposed to, but they made an exception for me.” And on that point, she didn't elaborate, leaving him to wonder what in the world she could've done to be Pawnee High’s one exception. She jutted her hand out, somehow perfectly keeping all her books stable in one hand, and grinned impossibly wider. “I'm Leslie Knope, freshman student now, but future President of the United States.”

It was ridiculously ambitious, and even stranger to say with confidence, but for some reason, he didn't doubt her. He took her hand and shook it, feeling a little strange, because did high schoolers really shake hands when meeting each other for the first time? “Um… I'm just Ben. Ben Wyatt. I am… just a freshman, for right now. Not nearly as exciting as the President.”

“Well,  _ Just Ben,  _ welcome to your first day at Pawnee High.” She took her hand from him, and his suddenly felt a little colder. He realized, vaguely, that he was staring at Leslie, and tore himself away so he could get back to his open locker, filling it with the books and binders he wouldn't need until much later in the day. “Are you interested in any clubs? Obviously I know a lot about them. I could help you get involved.”

Ben had a few ideas. “Yeah, actually. Model UN, for sure.”

“Oh my god, I love Model UN!”

“And I really wanted to get involved in Student Council—”

_ “What!”  _ she gasped, and then she  _ pushed  _ him, fully pushed him, prompting Ben to stumble backwards, grateful he had already put all his books away. She was still smiling, staring at him incredulously.

“Uh, are you happy or angry?”

Leslie stared down at her hands, which had morphed into fists rather quickly. “I— I’m happy! Yeah, I'm happy. I  _ really  _ wanna do Student Council. We could… we could do it together.”

And that idea kind of made Ben smile. “Yeah, we could.”

The bell rang just then, signaling their first period was starting soon, and the two of them immediately tensed up, so nervous at the idea of being late. They exchanged worried glances and Ben instantly slammed his locker shut and hoisted his backpack over his shoulder again. Leslie pushed her books closer to her chest, biting down on her bottom lip.

“Um, what's your first class?” she asked him.

“English. You?”

She deflated. “Math.  _ Ugh.  _ Well, I guess I'll… see you around? Our lockers are right next to each other.”

“Yeah,” Ben grinned. “Yeah, I'll see you around.”

They parted ways, and part of him couldn't help but feel that he might've just made his first  _ friend.  _ He set up his binder in his English class and tuned out as the teacher droned on about classroom rules, thinking about Leslie. Sure, Ben had Andy as his best friend, but he’d had Andy since the seventh grade. The idea of making a brand new friend in high school (and a friend that just so happened to be a pretty girl) honestly thrilled Ben, and made him hope that they  _ did  _ have at least one class together… even though he knew he would see her frequently enough with their lockers next to each other.

_ Oh, god.  _ He needed to calm down. He was already thinking way too hard about this girl that was likely just being friendly.

He went through the motions at school that day, thanking the lord that in actuality, it wasn't that different from middle school. Class to class, some of the same annoying people, and not a single class with Andy. Every teacher spent the day just reviewing rules and welcoming them to high school, occasionally making them fill out papers about their lives and interests and others making every student introduce themselves. Those always mortified Ben. He would rather face a raccoon head on than stand up and tell the class a fun fact about himself.

“Um, my name is Ben Wyatt,” he would say, pointedly avoiding looking at the faces around him. “I'm fourteen years old. My favorite subject is… math, I guess. And my fun fact is… uh, I really like  _ Star Wars.”  _

He winced at that one, because  _ Star Wars? Really, Ben?  _ He just had to bring up one of the nerdiest things about him in the middle of class where people were definitely laughing at him, and all he could do was stare at his shaky hands and find his seat again. No, nope, he absolutely was not bringing up his nerdy habits again. Those would stay at home for him to enjoy in private. But here, he had to be cool, right?  _ Cool,  _ and collected, and confident.

He totally knew what he was doing.

He was just looking forward to lunchtime to see Andy again, walking into his fourth period— history. Just this class, and he could go to lunch, it would all be okay. Besides, he  _ liked  _ history. History was fun, and he knew a lot about it. Hell, he kept stacks of history books and political biographies on his bookshelf at home, and— oh god, that was too nerdy, wasn't it? He wasn't going to mention that bit to anyone.

Ben walked into the classroom ready to take a seat near the door, when—  _ oh god,  _ right there at the very front and center seat was a small blonde girl, carefully setting up her binder, pulling out sheets of paper, and organizing all her multicolored pens. She didn't even need to turn around for Ben to know it was Leslie, and an automatic grin made its way onto his lips as he pushed his way over to her.

“Hey,” he all but gasped, standing next to her desk. “This seat taken?”

She spun around, her hair flying, and she grinned just as widely at him. “Ben! Hi!” It felt good for someone to be so excited to see him. “Oh my god, I was hoping we would have a class together— go ahead, the seat’s all yours.”

So he sat down, positioning his backpack so that it would hang off the edge of his chair instead of dumping it to the floor. He copied her, pulling out fresh binder paper and a pen, suddenly a little unsure of how to continue conversation with her. Should he say something about history? About all the clubs she was involved in? Maybe he should ask why Pawnee High made her an exception to joining their clubs… No, no, that could be personal, he shouldn't ask that.

_ God,  _ talking to people was such a chore. It wasn't like this with Andy, who could talk for hours straight all by himself, and all Ben had to do was nod occasionally.

He had just opened his mouth to ask her what her thoughts were on history classes in general when the final bell rang, doors started shutting, and the teacher was standing up from his desk, cutting Ben off very effectively. He shut his mouth tightly and clutched his pen, stealing a small glance at Leslie, who was looking up at the board with an eager gleam in her eyes.

Their history teacher was a man who looked to be in his late forties, in khakis and a sweater vest, introducing himself as Nick Newport Jr. Or, to his students, simply Mr. Newport. And he struck Ben as one of those teachers that you have to like right away, really— he smiled at everyone, in a way that touched his eyes and felt genuine, and he spoke so sincerely, opening, widening his arms as if to embrace the class as a whole. As he spoke, Ben found himself continuing to smile, and more than anything, he wanted to do well in this class.

Mr. Newport was one of those teachers you just really wanted to make  _ proud. _

So really, of course it all went wrong.

“Now, I know you've probably already done introductions in all of your classes so far, so I apologize for asking you to do it again,” Mr. Newport said, amidst stifled groans from his students. “But, just for you guys, I'm not going to make you do it in front of the class. How about you turn to the person next to you and introduce yourself to them, and tell them your favorite part about living in Pawnee. Sounds good?”

Ben had to admit, it sounded a lot better than standing up in front of the class again, especially because the person next to him just so happened to be Leslie Knope. Students started speaking, and they turned to each other at the same time, grinning wildly.

“Well, hello, strange person that I have never met before,” she giggled, and Ben couldn't help but play along.

“Yes, nice to meet you, totally random stranger!” he said, and they shook hands again, holding a little tighter this time. “My name is Ben Wyatt, and you are?”

“The future President of the United States,” she repeated, and he found himself wondering if she introduced herself that way to everyone. “Ms. Knope, if you will.”

“Oh, well in that case, you can call me Mr. Wyatt and Mr. Wyatt  _ only,  _ Ms. Knope.”

They broke into laughter, throwing their heads back and coming forward again, just to realize they still hadn't let go of each other's hands. The realization hit quickly, awkwardly, and they both pulled away, Ben wiping his palm on his jeans. They grinned at each other, shuffling in their seats, momentarily forgetting what else they were supposed to be doing.

_ Pawnee.  _ That's right.

“Right,” Leslie cleared her throat. “Our favorite part about living in Pawnee. Well, that's easy, absolutely everything—”

And maybe they could've avoided the fight, if Ben hadn't said at the exact same time: “God, absolutely nothing.”

They both froze, staring at each other, and for a moment, neither knew what to say.

“Did you… did you say nothing?” Leslie asked him, her face carefully blank.

Ben shifted, his eyes flickering down at his hands. “Uh, yeah. Yeah, I'm not exactly a fan of Pawnee.”

Something flashed in Leslie’s eyes, and they didn't look quite so bright or happy as they did a second ago. She swallowed hard, lifting her chin up as if to get a better look at him. “Can… can I ask why?”

Ben shrugged, too stupid to realize he probably should not have been speaking his mind just then. He could just as easily have  _ lied…  _ “I mean, I moved here from Minnesota when I was eight. I guess sometimes I just miss it. Pawnee isn't my home, not really, so to me, it's nothing special.”

She tensed up further, her jaw setting, eyes starting to narrow. “Pawnee isn't… special?”

“Not really, no. It's just kind of here, and sometimes it feels like the middle of nowhere, and it's dirty, and the people are… honestly really rude and super uneducated, and  _ god,  _ the raccoons—”

_ “What's wrong with the raccoons exactly?” _

Ben was shocked at the sudden amount of fierce passion in Leslie's tone, the way she was glaring at him, and he sat back in his seat and held his hands up. “I hate raccoons,” he admitted, feeling this should be a relatable statement. “They're kind of terrifying and they're everywhere and I don't want to have to chase away another one—”

“Well, they're always in the bathrooms here, so get used to it,” she huffed, crossing her arms over her chest. “Unbelievable. You don't like Pawnee?”

“I kind of hate it, really. I honestly didn't think anyone liked it here.”

_ “Well, I do!”  _ She was losing her cool very quickly, and Ben was nervous, looking around the room to make sure no one had noticed her outburst. “Oh my god, I can't believe you? And to think that I was… I was actually going to be friends…”

“Wait,  _ what?”  _ Now it was Ben’s turn to be angry, sitting up in his seat and spinning to better look at her. “Are you serious right now? You can't be friends with someone because they don't…  _ like Pawnee?” _

“Pawnee means  _ everything to me,”  _ she huffed, and her hands curled into fists.  _ “Everything, Ben Wyatt.  _ Pawnee absolutely is special—”

“Special enough to not want to be friends over it? Why does it matter to you that much?”

She threw her hands up in the air, gesturing wildly, her hair flying around her. “Pawnee is the best city in Indiana, probably America, possibly the world! I mean, I was born here, I grew up here. I still go to all those rec center classes and I love all the parks, I know the entire Parks and Rec department by name, I hope to work there someday on my way to President— how could you not love places like Ramsett Park? City Hall?  _ JJ’s Diner? Do you not love JJ’s Diner?” _

Ben thought about the tiny diner she was referring to, the one that served cold fries and mediocre burgers and the music was a little too quiet and the air conditioning a little too strong. He scrunched up his nose and shook his head. “Not particularly, no.”

Leslie held her hand to her chest as if she had just been physically wounded, stifling a gasp. She closed her eyes and just breathed for a moment, deep breaths, trying to control herself. Ben watched her with awe, so utterly confused by her, when she spoke without opening her eyes. “Have you no heart, Ben Wyatt?”

Ben couldn't help it; he rolled his eyes. “So, now I have no heart because I don't like some old diner? Jesus, Leslie—”

_ “Some old diner?”  _ This time Leslie actually screamed his words back at him, and conversations around them were definitely dying down so students could stop and listen. There was whispering, a few heads were turning, and Ben felt his face heat up. “JJ’s Diner is home to the best waffles in the world, and waffles just so happen to be the best breakfast food in the world. Scratch that, not just the best breakfast food, but the best food ever—”

“I kind of prefer calzones, but—”

Leslie slammed her hand on her desk, and everyone was watching them now, bated breath. “I've come to a decision. A very important decision, and it's that I don't like you, Ben Wyatt.”

A chill ran down his spine, shocking him, like he’d been dumped in a bucket of ice cold water. He jerked backwards. “I— excuse me?”

She nodded vehemently. “I don't like you. You're a jerk. You're a cold and callous jerk—”

_ “Excuse me?”  _ Ben felt himself getting mad,  _ actually  _ mad, and not just in a way that made him want to run away, as usual. No, he was prepared to fight back. Something about her made him want to stand his ground, to shoot her own words back at her until she was just as hurt. “At least I'm not completely naive,” Ben spit. “All false positivity and cheerfulness until someone disagrees with you. You're blind if you think this little dump town is in any way special.”

Leslie stood up, and there was absolutely no ignoring her now. “You…  _ you ass!  _ You're a complete and total ass! How dare you? How dare you talk about me and Pawnee that way, at least I  _ have  _ a heart—”

“Oh, do you? Or do you just care for your little hometown and no one else? You can't seem to think outside of it—”

_ “Shut up!”  _ she screamed, as Mr. Newport was very quickly making his way over to them.  _ “Shut up, you jerk! You insensitive, unfeeling—” _

_ “Leslie.” _

This time, it was Mr. Newport’s voice that interrupted her, and she instantly stopped, taking a quick breath as if to calm herself down. Newport looked between the two of them, both red in the face, standing up (when did Ben start to stand? God, that girl made him lose himself), and breathing heavily. Both their hands were in fists.

“Leslie,” Newport said again, prompting Ben to think they knew each other. Of course they did, apparently Leslie loved Pawnee so much that she had to hang around the high school even in the  _ summer.  _ Newport looked over at him. “And…?”

“Ben,” he supplied. “Ben Wyatt.”

“Right. Ben,” Newport nodded. “Listen. I'm not going to ask either of you what happened here, or why you're arguing, okay? For today, I'm going to let that go, chalk it up to first day nerves, and not send you outside for it—”

“Oh my god, you were going to send me outside?” Leslie's voice choked up as if she was about to start sobbing. “Oh god, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, please don't—”

Newport put a hand on her shoulder. “Hey,  _ hey,  _ I already said I'm not sending you outside. No punishment for today, okay? But I am going to ask the two of you to be mindful of how you talk to each other in the future. Take deep breaths and try to calm down. And maybe even…?”

“I'm not apologizing to him,” she insisted, wiping at her eyes. “I can't.”

“Then I'm not apologizing to her, either,” Ben said, crossing his arms over his chest. If she was going to be difficult, he would be just as difficult.

Mr. Newport sighed, resigning himself to their decision. “Fine. Fine, I won't make you. But I am going to ask you to take a break from each other. Sit somewhere else, if you can't get along.  _ Breathe.  _ Deep breaths, please.”

They didn't so much as look at each other for the rest of class. Which was fine by Ben, if that's how she wanted to be. He definitely didn't care, didn't care at all, that he may have lost his one chance at a friend, and already disappointed a teacher he liked. Nope, didn't care. It was no big deal.

He went through the rest of the day in a decidedly sour mood. He barely ate his lunch, and thankfully Andy was so hyped up from the last several hours that he didn't even notice anything was wrong with Ben, just spent the entire lunch hour telling stories about his classes, all his new friends, and football tryouts he was excited to start. Which only served to remind Ben that he had an after school meeting for information on joining the Student Council…  _ which Leslie said earlier she was also doing. _

God, he just couldn't catch a break.

He almost considered not going. He strongly considered it, even. He wanted to crumple up the flyer he was given with the details of the meeting and decide Student Council just wasn't for him, he didn't need to be involved in government no matter how much he wanted to be. But then he thought of  _ her,  _ and how smug her face would be if she knew she chased him out of doing it, and he just couldn't let that happen. It would be like letting her win some unspoken war that had started between them today, one he was already intent on winning.

Frankly, no one had ever had this effect on Ben before.

So he went. He pulled open the door to Mr. Ron Swanson’s classroom and went to find a seat, just to see she was already there. But it didn't matter, he wouldn't let it bother him. He was just here for a meeting, same as her. He had  _ every right  _ to be here.

Not that she thought he did.

“What are you doing here?” she hissed at him, standing over his desk with her arms crossed over her chest. She looked so much smaller without a stack of books surrounding her. 

“Um, attending the Student Council meeting?” He raised a brow at her. “I did tell you I was interested this morning.”

Leslie stomped her foot, and Ben found the action childish, like she was throwing a fit. “Well, I didn't think you would follow through!”

“Why, because we fought in history? You assumed I would just roll over and let you have it because you don't like me? No, absolutely not, I'm not giving this up.”

She burned bright red. “Well… well don't you dare think you can steal Freshman Representative out from under me, because you don't stand a chance. I've already started campaigning. I have ten different campaign posters made and I'm baking cookies when I get home.”

Ben gaped at this— there was no way she was given permission to start running already, it was only the first day of school.  _ No one  _ was campaigning yet, not even the seniors trying out for President. How insane was she? “I am going to run for Freshman Representative,” he decidedly very suddenly. He would've been okay with just helping out in the background, but now? Now he felt an intense need to beat her at her own game. “So I hope you're ready for a fight, Leslie.”

She growled at him, looking as if she was seconds from completely tackling him. “Fine,” she hissed, her voice small and strained.  _ “Fine.  _ So we’re rivals now.”

“Rivals it is.”

“Which makes this  _ Knope versus Wyatt, round one.” _

The idea sounded appealing, it did. Leslie spun around and the meeting started, very short at Mr. Swanson’s request. Ben and Leslie were both set to run for Freshman Representative and he left the meeting soon after with shaking hands and heavy heart, wondering what the hell he just got himself into.

He didn't make any new friends, but he  _ did  _ make himself a rival.  _ An enemy. _

Maybe a rival was more interesting than a friend.

Ben found himself recounting the story to Andy later as they were playing video games at the Dwyer house. Andy was barely paying attention, asking questions between swinging his game remote, nearly losing it several times, but Ben just couldn't put any heart into the game, not like usual.

He set his remote down and sighed, bringing his hand to his brow. “I dunno, dude,” he said to Andy, who was running to grab his thrown remote, “I just… I just met this girl today, but I feel like she's going to change my life, you know?”

It was stupid, a stupid feeling, but one Ben just couldn't shake. There was something about Leslie Knope, really, something that made him think she wasn't going away for a long, long time.

“In a bad way?” Andy asked, running back, and Ben just shook his head.

“I honestly couldn't tell you.”


	5. Chapter 5

**PRESENT DAY**

The news hasn't quite hit Ben like it should.

His phone drops from his hand and Ann calls his name a few times, only once or twice, before she ultimately decides it's not worth it and hangs up. Which is good, because for some reason, Ben can't move. He's frozen in place, his hand near his head, gripping at his hair, eyes staring blankly across his room.

_ Leslie is missing? _

Officially missing. As in, the police are involved. A report has been made. No one has seen her since before graduation. No one has seen her since… since Ben saw her, that day.

_ Oh god. _

It's like he's stopped breathing, still enough to be a statue, numb enough that no helpful thought can get through to his brain. He wants to  _ think, think, goddammit—  _ think of when he last saw Leslie and try to figure out where she might have gone, where she could've run away to, but he can't. He feels so fucking stupid, sitting on his bed, incapable of even standing.

And then he starts to shake.

What if she didn't run away? What if something seriously, genuinely dangerous happened to her?  _ What if she's dead? _

He manages to find use of his limbs just to run to the bathroom and heave into the toilet.  _ Again.  _ He's spending too much time in bathrooms.

His brain takes a lot longer to catch up than his body. His body sends him back to his room just to pace, practically running back and forth in his room, unable to form a coherent thought. It's just static, so loud that it's deafening, and nothing can cut through it, and he wants to scream, pound his head against the wall and  _ scream— _

_ Andy and Tom. _

His first full thought, and it's not the one he would've expected. Not Leslie or Ann (though his brain is full of Leslie), but his best friends. He thinks of Andy and Tom and  _ god, do they even know? _

If they don't, they need to. Ben needs the backup, needs to scream into the void, and there's no one who can help him with that more than Andy and Tom. With a staggering breath, he searches the blankets for his phone and shoots a quick text to their group chat.

_ ‘My house. Now. As soon as possible.’ _

And, so they don't get any ideas for pit stops on the way, he adds another immediately following:

_ 'It's an emergency. NOW.’ _

Ben throws his phone back onto his bed and takes a deep breath, his fingers running through his hair and gripping tightly at his scalp until he winces.  _ Fuck.  _ Fuck, he just feels so powerless, so useless, sitting here in his room doing nothing when Leslie could be out there, potentially in danger, potentially hurt, definitely scared. How is he supposed to live with himself doing absolutely nothing?

_ No.  _ No, screw what his mom said about a summer grounding. This is bigger than getting grounded. While normally Ben would lie low and push through his punishment without much of a fight, he can't do that now. There's too much at risk to behave.

Making his final decision, he pushes open his bedroom door and runs back down the stairs, where his parents are still in the full swing of the argument in their kitchen. “Mom? Dad?” he calls, and, when they don't hear him, he screams—  _ “HEY!” _

That catches their attention. His mother and his father both jump, startled, fingers still raised to point at each other. They spin around to see him, still angry, his mom’s hands on her hips and his dad  _ actually  _ rolling his eyes. Like fucking  _ children.  _ And Ben swears he's the most mature of them all sometimes.

“What the fuck are you arguing about this time?” Ben screams, so frustrated that he can't stop the bitterness in his tone from pouring out. He's red in the face and he's exploding and he  _ doesn't care.  _ “Seriously? Again?”

“You do not get to talk to us like that, young man,” his mother hisses, pointing her finger in his face. “We already grounded you, get back to your room before I extend it.”

But Ben stands his ground. “No.”

“Excuse me?”

“Tom and Andy are coming over.”

He has to say it. He doesn't know if it's  _ strictly  _ true, just because he hasn't checked his phone to see if either of them have even answered, but it feels right to say it anyway. It feels like he's making a decision, like he's doing something instead of standing still, and it gives him the strength to continue.

“I don't care that I'm grounded,” he says. “They're coming over. There's an emergency.”

His dad winces. “Benny…”

_ “Excuse me?”  _ His mother is narrowing her eyes, broadening her shoulders to make herself bigger. Ben decides all on his own that he won't cower. “You… you do not get to make decisions like that, young man. You get back in your room right now—”

“Julia,” his father cuts in, reaching to touch her shoulder, but she screams, flinging his arm off her.

“Don't you touch me!” she shrieks, spinning around to face his father. “Don't you dare! I am trying to  _ parent  _ our son, unlike  _ some people—” _

“Just say  _ me  _ instead of dancing around the issue, love—”

“I'm sick of you! You're making this all about yourself when you need to discipline this boy—”

“I can’t punish him if you jump on him as soon as he breathes the wrong way!”

_ “How dare—” _

_ “Shut the fuck up!”  _ Ben screams, louder than the two of them combined, and there's silence once more. Just heavy breathing, wild eyes, Ben’s fists. He meets both their eyes and his voice never quiets down from a shout. “A girl is fucking  _ missing  _ and the two of you have the audacity to argue to each other all day. I'm sick of it,  _ I’m sick of it.” _

The two of them stare at him for a long time, blank faced.

“A girl… is missing?” his mother asks. “Who?”

“Leslie Knope.”

His parents know her. They've had to hear him complain about her for four years. They know she's the president. They know she didn't do her graduation speech. The instant recognition flashes through their eyes and Ben digs his nails into his palms, just praying that they’ll understand.

His dad snorts. “That bitch that always pissed you off? Good riddance, Benny, you always hated her anyway.”

“Don't— don't you dare call her that.”

“Like you haven't.”

_ “I haven't.”  _ Ben has said a lot of things, so many that he shouldn't have, but he's never called her a bitch. Never that. He always knew that was too far. And hearing his dad say it is too far now. “You know what? Fuck you. Fuck both of you, for not caring about this—”

“Don't pin this on me!” his mother cries, her arms flying around her head. “Your father said it! Don't you dare lump me in with him when he said it—”

“This is just like you, Mom! You don't even  _ care  _ that an actual person is  _ missing,  _ you just want to fight Dad.”

“Well, he said something  _ rude—” _

His dad rolls his eyes. “Don't pretend you wouldn't say it either. You were thinking it.”

“But I didn't say it!” she screams, rounding on him. “You're insufferable! Miserable! Can't you see our son is trying to tell us something? And yet—”

“Oh my god, I hate you,” Ben groans, slamming his head into his hands.  _ “Just get fucking divorced already and leave me out of this.” _

It's all he asks for. All he's begged for for years.  _ Just leave each other alone. _

_ Get me out of this house. _

***

**JUNIOR YEAR**

Ben had to get out of that damn house. He just had to. 

He had never been more thankful for a Tom Haverford party in his life than he had been that day, the moment he got the text from his friend. It was a party, or sitting in his room all day trying to not get angry, so it was an easy decision.

He didn't once look at his parents as he walked out, bringing nothing but his phone and his keys, slamming the door shut behind him.

Tom and Jean-Ralphio were very deeply intertwined on a couch together by the time Ben walked in, the party already in full swing. He didn't mind, it made it easier for him to go about uninterrupted. He wasn't here to socialize, really, just looking for a distraction. A nice, alcoholic distraction.

He spotted the vodka bottles and instantly sprinted over, never more excited at the idea of straight alcohol. And that was where it all went wrong, he supposed— when he decided he was upset enough that he didn't even need a shot glass. He just drank straight from the bottle.

He found himself stumbling out into the backyard sometime later, hours gone in a hazy blur. It was dark outside, the stars were out. He didn't remember when that happened. Didn't remember why his head hurt so much. Didn't remember how much he drank or why he was crying.

_ “Fuck,”  _ he hissed, stumbling over and crashing on the pavement. “Oh my god. Fuck. I hate this.”

His vision wouldn't stop spinning and he was sick of it, so sick of it, he just wanted it all to  _ quit.  _ He hoisted himself up onto a step beside the grass, gripping it so tightly his knuckles turned white, putting his head between his knees and squeezing his eyes shut.

“Stop crying,” he told himself, unsure how loud he was really being. “You idiot, stop crying.”

Alcohol was supposed to  _ distract  _ him, not make all those thoughts stick to the forefront of his brain. But there it all was, in vivid and screaming color, just haunting him, making fun of him for thinking he could ever escape it. His parents screaming, the sound never ceasing, the door slamming shut as Henry left and didn't come back, the way his little sister cried under the table. Ben having to grab her arm and pull her up the stairs, their parents oblivious, throwing things, crying.

Words like  _ hate, affair, useless. Separation. Divorce. _

Words that had been thrown around for over a year now. And yet still they weren't a reality.

If they were, this nightmare would be over by now. Maybe then it would stop hurting so much.

Ben hit his head and grabbed at his hair and accidentally knocked over a bottle he didn't know was next to him. The glass shattered against the concrete step, and he didn't care to look for the shards. If he bled, he bled.

“Oh! I didn't know  _ you  _ were out here— oh god, are you okay?”

It was the only sound to pierce through the screaming in his brain. The voice quieted the others, somehow, into more of a dull thrum, but it took Ben a moment to realize who it was.

He swiveled his head around, quickly wiped his tears from his cheeks, and tried to face Leslie in a dignified manner.

“I'm fine,” he insisted, but he knew he was far from convincing. She looked at him with a wary expression, shifting her weight back and forth, cradling a red cup in her hands. She wore a black dress that hugged her body and her hair was curled, more than usual. Ben thought she looked nice. “I… why? Why do you care?”

It was cruel of him to say, but he didn't care. She was always mean to him. She probably just came out here to be mean to him.

She frowned, but not in the same way she did when she usually looked at him. This wasn't an  _ angry  _ frown, but more of a sad one. It wasn't right on her. It didn't fit her. He didn't want her to frown.

She had red lipstick on. That also looked nice.

“I care because you look like a mess, Wyatt. You're crying.”

He looked away from her and wiped his eyes again. “No I'm not.”

_ “Yes,  _ you are.” And then she was moving, and sitting next to him, so close he shuddered. She added a sort of warmth that felt night in the cool night air. She wore long sleeves but so much of her legs were bare right in front of them, stark white, and he wondered if she was cold. If she was drunk, and that's why she was here. “Hey,” she whispered, her voice suddenly softer. “How drunk are you?”

Ben clenched his jaw and sniffled, shoving his palms against his eyelids. “I'm not. I'm perfectly sober.”

He didn't even need to look at her to know what face she was making. “Ben.”

He shuddered again. She never called him by his first name. It was always  _ Wyatt.  _ So cold, so impersonal. And this felt real. Different. He started to tear up again and suddenly he couldn't lie to her.

“Very,” he admitted. “Everything is… everything is spinning.”

Leslie sighed, and was silent for a second, before grabbing his hand. At first he jumped at the contact, the feel of her skin on his, but she was just giving him something, shoving something into his hand. Her red cup. “Drink that,” she said.

“What is it?”

She rolled her eyes. “Water, dummy. I'm guessing you haven't had any.”

His fingers closed around the cup and looked inside as if he didn't believe her. He still couldn't quite look at her, but he pulled the cup to his lips anyway. One sip of water already soothed his system, just slightly, bringing him a sense of clarity that wasn't there before. He drank it quicker. “You’ve just been drinking water?” he asked her, taking a deep breath. He heaved from the chugging. “Are you drunk?”

“Tipsy,” she shrugged. “Ann got me to take a couple shots with her.”

Ben narrowed his eyes, looking at her from behind his arm. “A couple shots and you're only tipsy? You're like… two pounds.”

She grinned. She looked pretty. She looked genuine. “And yet I bet I could drink you under the table.”

He didn't doubt that. He was sure Leslie Knope could beat him at a lot of things with one hand tied behind her back. He still considered it a miracle he beat her to Vice President at the beginning of the year. “So you're tipsy,” he repeated her. “A little drunk. Is that why you're being so nice to me?”

And there was that frown again. The one that Ben felt in his chest. “No,” she bristled. “I'm being… nicer than usual because you're upset.”

“That's never exactly stopped you before.”

“I haven't really seen you  _ this  _ upset before. Especially over something that's probably not about me.”

Ben couldn't argue with that. He was upset, and it had nothing to do with her. What he didn't tell her is that actually happened quite frequently— at school he was upset over Leslie, and at home he was upset over… well, everything.

“I guess,” Ben mumbled, drinking more of the water. He was still very drunk, but at least his vision was clearing up a little. “You don't have to sit with me, you know. If you don't want to.”

She sucked in a breath, one he could hear. Her fingers clenched at the hem of her dress and it rode up, just slightly, exposing more of her thigh. Ben’s next shudder had absolutely nothing to do with the weather. “I want to,” Leslie said. “You could tell me what's wrong.”

“Why would I do that?”

“Because sometimes it's nice to just shout things into the void. Sometimes it feels safer to talk to someone who's so far removed from the situation. Someone who won't get involved and doesn't care enough to get involved.”

At that, Ben looked up, smirking at her just slightly. “Are you saying you don't care about me, Leslie Knope?”

She giggled, a carefree sound, and shoved him slightly with her arm. He rocked back against her and both were just drunk enough to not recoil at the extended contact. “Never have, never will,” she teased. “So tell me what's wrong, jerk.”

And for some goddamn reason, he did. He felt like he could. Like he wanted to.

Like he was safe here, with her.

Fighting with her was the only real constant in his life, sometimes. She felt safe.

“This is going to sound really stupid,” he said, looking out across Tom’s backyard. “But my parents are getting divorced. Or, at least, they're supposed to. I don't know. They've been throwing around the word  _ divorce  _ for a couple years now, but this is the first time they've actually said they're going to do it.”

“And you don't want that?”

“That's the funny thing, actually. I do want that. I want them far, far apart from each other. So they never have to be in the same room again. Their fighting… it's basically destroyed our family.” Ben took a deep breath, gripping the water cup tighter, the plastic denting under his touch. If he was just a little more sober, he wouldn't be able to talk about this at all. “My older brother… Henry. He graduated last year. He tried to stop it, he really did. He tried to parent the two of them everyday, but that's… that's too much for a kid to take, you know? But he wanted to take care of me and my sister. Until it got so bad he couldn't do it anymore.” He squeezed his eyes shut, picturing the slamming doors, raw throats from screaming. “He just left. Moved out. He still checks up on me sometimes, but it's not enough.”

“You're angry,” Leslie guessed. Ben nodded.

“Of course I am. How can I not be? He shouldn't have had to deal with our parents, yeah, but to just… just leave? To drop all that responsibility onto me? I haven't been able to think of Henry the same way. I don't even know what he's up to now.”

“So you're taking care of your parents. And your sister?”

“Mostly… shielding Steph from them, yeah. It's rough on her. She's not even a freshman yet. I got her a phone a couple years ago, just so that… so that when things are bad, or she just needs to talk, she can call me.” And Ben grinned a little at that, because it reminded him of Stephanie. His little sister, who made it one of Ben’s habits to always pick up the phone, just in case she needed him. “I don't know. I'm just hoping it ends soon. I'm tired of it, and I need a break. I probably sound stupid and… and I don't know why you're being nice to me anyway.”

It seemed Leslie very pointedly ignored that last part, because they had already been over that. Not that it made any sense to Ben. None of this made sense, no matter how comfortable it felt. He was just tired, and drunk, and she was warm and inviting and he kind of wanted to touch her. He didn't know in what way.

“I understand more than you think, you know,” she said finally, after a considerable pause. “Not in the same way as you. But I know how difficult parents can be.”

“Are your's divorced?”

She set her jaw, cast her eyes downwards. “My dad died when I was ten.”

“Oh. I— I’m sorry.”

“Don't be,” she shrugged. “It's… it's whatever. But it's just me and my mom now. Kind of. Mostly just me. Because she's never around. I never see her. She doesn't even go to any of my events. I know that I have a lot, but she doesn't go to  _ any  _ of them.”

It struck Ben, then, that he had never met Leslie’s mother. They shared many of the same events, and after every single one, she just kind of strayed to the side, talking to people that passed, checking her phone every so often. Even Ben’s parents, terrible as they were, made the effort to come and support him.

Ben didn't quite know what to say to her.

“But it's whatever,” she said, smoothing her palms out. “You don't care about my life story. I'll just… I should probably just go home.”

That made Ben look up, watching her as she stood, tugging her dress back down to cover her thighs better. “You're leaving?”

“I think I probably should,” she said, and for some reason, she started to look scared. “Hey. I hope this isn't out of line, but… I want you to give me your number. Just so you can text me when you get home. So that… so that I know you’re safe. Because you're pretty drunk. I mean, you're a mess, so it's the right thing to do, and I just think that—”

“Yeah,” he interrupted her, and they both smiled at the same time. “I don't have a pen. Can't write drunk. Think you can remember it?”

That light in her eyes was back. “Do you doubt my memorization, Wyatt?”

***

**PRESENT DAY**

  
By the time the doorbell rings, Ben already forgets who he's expecting.

He's been busy yelling at his parents and never bothered to go up and check his phone, so there's several texts completely unseen. Not just from Andy and Tom, but from several different students from Pawnee High, including Ann Perkins, Jen Barkley, and Donna Meagle.

_ News has spread.  _ And quickly.

Andy and Tom stand just outside Ben’s door and he ushers them inside, ignoring the looks from his parents. There isn't even room for them to argue, not now, not when all three boys are red in the face and full of panic.

“Good lord— what took you guys so long?”

“Dude, we’ve been help up—”

“Oh my god, I've never had this many texts in my  _ life,  _ and I had to call April—”

“Our phones have been blowing up—”

“What the hell about?” Ben screams over the noise, his hands gripping his hair again. They just keep talking over each other. “What the hell can be more important than this? Listen, I have to tell you something—”

“Leslie is missing.”

Tom says it plainly, like he's known forever, like  _ Ben  _ is the one who’s behind. And Ben just gapes at him, his mouth open, hands in the air, as if frozen in place.

“That  _ is  _ what you were gonna tell us, right?” Tom asks, and Ben shakes himself out, hitting his forehead.

“Oh god,” he gasps. “Yes. I called Ann and she told me. How did you two find out?”

“Donna,” Andy says.

“Well, how did Donna find out?”

“Jean-Ralphio. Who also told me,” Tom says. “And he told me he found out from Bobby Newport.”

“Who found out from Jen, who was told by—”

“Ann,” Ben finishes. “Her girlfriend.  _ Of course.  _ Oh god, am I one of the last to know?”

“No, but it is kind of blowing up right now,” Tom says, clutching his phone in his hand. It won't stop buzzing with notifications. “I'm pretty sure everyone from Pawnee High knows. If not all of Pawnee.”

“Everyone loves Leslie,” Andy nods. “Except for like, Ben. A lot of people care.”

“Don't say that,” Ben snaps.

“Don't say what?”

“Don't say that I… don't act like I don't care about Leslie. Don't say that.”

“Dude,” Tom snorts. “You've always said you don't care about her. Even when we teased you about her. And now you wanna switch up?”

“Just—” Ben groans, low and frustrated, rubbing his hand over his face. “Just  _ stop.  _ She's  _ missing,  _ of course I care about that! I just… I don't care that we were rivals, I don't care. A girl is missing and she could be in danger.”

“She probably just ran away,” Ben’s dad’s voice said from behind him, him and his mom entering from the kitchen. “Mighta run away from you, Benny, kids run away from their bullies all the time.”

And that… that's the idea that makes Ben feel sick again. Those words make Ben double over and his stomach threatens to throw out all the  _ nothing  _ that's inside it, just to make his head hurt and his throat burn. Just so he remembers that he never did enough, that he's not doing anything now, that he's not  _ helping. _

“How could you say that?” he gasps at his dad, clutching his stomach hard enough that it hurts. “What… what the fuck is wrong with you? That's twisted—”

“But what if it's right?” Andy says, and Ben turns on him.

“Not you too—”

“April said it, not me!” Andy raises his hands as if in surrender, taking a step back from Ben, who probably looks feral. “April said you were all mean to Leslie about the graduation speech so maybe she ran away—”

Ben actually collapses, over onto the couch, as if his legs don't support him anymore. He's shaking and he knows it's not true,  _ it can't be true,  _ but still the thought haunts him, terrifies him, makes him want to head up back to his room and give up on talking to anyone about this. His heart is pounding in his chest and  _ fuck,  _ he wants to cry. He wants to sob until he physically can't anymore, but he knows even then he won't feel better, not completely. Crying won't bring Leslie back.

“Ben,” his mother says, her voice stern. “Did you do something to that girl?”

_ “No!”  _ he cries, and the ache spreading through his whole body is too much, he can't even look up to meet anyone in the eyes. Just the  _ thought  _ that this could be his fault…

The doorbell rings again.

“Good god,” his mother says, exasperated. “You're not expecting  _ more  _ company, are you? You're supposed to be grounded—”

“No,” he says. “No, I’m not, I don't know who that is—”

His mother opens the door, and everyone crowds around, peeking through the windows curtains, trying to get a look. Ben still sits on the couch, clutching at his chest, wanting to ignore it all, but he can't, not when he hears that voice.

That all too familiar, all too happy voice.

“Mrs. Wyatt!” the voice chirps, and Ben can just picture those goddamn finger guns of his. “So lovely to see you.”

“Chris Traeger,” she responds. “What's going on here? Why have you brought the police to my door?”

_ The police?  _ Why the hell would Principal Traeger be at his door—  _ after graduation, at that—  _ with the police?

Unless… it has something to do with Leslie.

Ben rises on shaky feet, inching around to look at the door. He's never been a fan of the police. They don't do much, around Pawnee. They don't do much, and they  _ scare  _ Ben. He gets the jitters, and he forgets how to act, and he says things that don't make sense. And now they're at his  _ door. _

“I'm so sorry about the spectacle, Mrs. Wyatt,” Chris Traeger says, and to his defense, he does look genuinely sad, clasping his arms in front of him, ducking his head. Or, as sad as Chris can ever look. “But is your son Ben here right now?”

His mother pauses. “Has Ben done something?”

Chris pauses, and through his mother's arm Ben can see him exchanging glances with the police on either side of him. Chris's brows furrow, his lips twisting downwards. “We would like to ask to see him, if we could, ma’am.”

Ben can't take it. He decides to be brave. “What's going on?” he asks, pushing past Andy and Tom to stand next to his mother at the door. “Does this have to do with Leslie? She's— I was told she’s missing.”

“This is Ben Wyatt?” the police chief asks, looking at Chris instead of him. Chris nods solemnly.

“Seriously,” Ben gasps, his hands shaking so badly he has to shove them into his jeans pockets. “What the hell is this about?”

“This is about Leslie Knope, I’m afraid,” Chris says, stepping backwards so the police chief can get closer to Ben. “And it is, unfortunately, about her untimely disappearance.”

Ben’s heart drops in his stomach. “So… so why do you need me? What do I have to contribute?”

“Young man,” the police chief says, staring Ben down in a way that makes his knees buckle. “We’re going to need to bring you in for some questioning—”

_ “What?!”  _ Ben’s voice mingles in with Andy’s and Tom’s, while his mother just gasps, bringing a hand to her mouth.

“What the hell does my boy know about this?” Ben’s dad roars, and the Chief holds a hand up to quiet them.

“I'm sorry,” he says, and Ben just sees red. “But we believe your son may have something to do with the disappearance of Leslie Knope.”


	6. Chapter 6

Ben is almost certain that he passed out for a second, there.

There's the tiniest of gaps in his memory, like some strange static in his brain immediately following the announcement. He's unsure how he reacts, unsure what he must look like to the people around him. He even loses the faces of the cops and Chris Traeger, feeling nothing until he comes to with a hand on his arm and yelling around him.

_ “— what the hell? You can't take him—” _

_ “—didn't do anything, I was just joking—” _

_ “—wouldn’t hurt a fly—” _

Andy and Tom are completely up in arms, talking over each other, trying to make sense of a situation that is so new to them. Ben’s parents yell, but it is largely unintelligible, mostly at each other, starting off at the cops but then finding a way to blame it on the other. His mother's hand is the one on his arm, and when he finally comes to enough to move, he jerks himself away from her, stumbling with the ferocity of his own action.

Andy has his arms up as if in surrender. “Dude, I swear, I was joking, I know Ben didn't do anything—”

“Listen, we don't know if he did either,” the police chief says, thumbs in his belt loops. “That's why we need to take him in. So we can just ask him some questions, that's all—”

“God, I fucking hate cops,” Tom hisses, grabbing his face. And Ben is kind of inclined to agree.

“Guys,” he says suddenly, his voice choking. He holds his arms out as if to search for personal space. “I'm fine.”

“But Ben—”

“No. No, Andy. It's okay.” It's definitely not okay, but Ben is trying his best to act rationally. Calmly, like this isn't really a big deal. Because if he fights, that'll make him look worse, right? He'll look guilty? But still, his hands shake and he's breaking out into a cold sweat. “I'll go with them.”

“What?” his mother starts up. “Ben, if you did something—”

“He already answered your goddamn question, Julia, what more do you want from him?” his dad growls, still in the doorway, as if eager to stay as far away as possible. “Let him go with the pigs, if that's what he wants.”

The police chief shifts uncomfortably. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me, pig.”

Ben holds an arm up, widening his stance. “Okay,  _ please,  _ everyone just calm down. I said I'll go, okay? It's just some questions, right?” He looks at Chris as if for confirmation, the man bouncing up and down in a very poorly concealed spiral.

“Just some questions,” Chris agrees, forcing himself to smile. “We just want to know more, that's all. You understand, we need to attack this from all angles—” Chris gasps, and doubles over, hands on his knees. “Oh god, this is  _ literally  _ the most  _ exhausting  _ thing I've ever done.”

“Fine,” Ben says, and holds his wrists out as if he's being arrested. “Fine, just… I'll go. Let's just go.” The cops walk towards him and he flinches almost violently, even if their intent  _ isn’t  _ to handcuff him. One just touches his upper arm and leads him out the front door, but Ben is terrified enough of cops and the situation as a whole that he's sure they can feel the way he's trembling, see the way he's breaking out into a sweat.

Tom and Andy are still talking in circles in the doorway as Ben climbs into the backseat of the cop car, and—  _ oh god,  _ this is definitely something he never imagined he would do in his life. And it's the worst feeling, the absolute worst, even  _ without  _ handcuffs. Just the fact that the police are shutting the door behind him and he is left to stare out the window, nothing to do but contemplate what brought him here— it's like the biggest plot twist of his life.

He presses his face to the window as the car starts to drive, trying to focus in on the trees and the sidewalks instead of the car and his reality. Which is impossible, of course. Chris Traeger is in his car behind them and they're driving him to seal his fate, maybe even to accuse him of something he knows nothing about.

And that particularly nasty part of his brain, the demon that comes out to haunt him at his most vulnerable, strikes just as violently now, when Ben is incapable of keeping it at bay. And it asks him if this  _ is  _ his fault, somehow. If four years of arguing and tearing down Leslie Knope actually did cause her to snap, to break, to run away. If she's seriously hurt now because of him, because he could never grow up, because they could never just talk, never simply  _ face what happened between them— _

Ben starts to hyperventilate. He digs his nails into the thighs of his jeans until it hurts, distracting enough to calm him, to even his breath, cloud his mind. He can't afford to freak out, not now. If anything, this could be his best shot at getting information, if he plays his cards right.

But still, he can't help but wonder if it really is his fault.

He imagines her out there, all bright hair and wide eyes, running to nowhere, a bag over her shoulder. He imagines her ignoring her phone and camping out at rundown motels, dirt on her face, her hair pulled up, bags under her eyes because she never did sleep right. He sees the sweat on her brow in so much detail, the way her nails dig into her palms, how she tries not to cry. He imagines it's his fault, that she runs because she feels unloved, so torn apart, and it strikes him that she never deserved the hell he gave her, even on their worst days.

And he tries not to cry. Because he's done too much crying lately.

It only takes him a couple minutes of staring with blurry eyes out the car window before he realizes they're not taking him to the police station. They pass it, actually, without even the slightest bit of hesitation, and this is where he starts to get really nervous. Is this all some kind of an elaborate prank? Are these cops so completely stupid that they actually missed their turn? It's well known in Pawnee that their police department is nothing if not completely useless— nobody remembers the last time they handled something properly. It's all laziness, ignoring issues, not handling things properly. And the thought scares him even more, because what if Ben has gotten himself into real trouble now?

They start to pull into the Pawnee High School parking lot, right next to Chris’s car, and Ben wonders if this is really how you conduct a police investigation. But they're getting out and opening his door, so he has no choice but to unbuckle and force himself to stand, force himself to go through with this process. He shoves his shaky hands in his pockets and walks between the two policemen, meeting Chris at the front of the school.

“Why are we here?” Ben blurts out, unable to help himself. “Isn't questioning usually done at the station?”

Chris grimaces. “It is, yes. But I figured, Ben Wyatt, knowing you, you might be more comfortable in this setting.” Oh. Chris knows his fear of cops. He guesses that's pretty nice, for a school principal. “And because, as your principal, I'm personally involved, as are a few other guests, so it felt  _ right  _ for this questioning to take place in another setting. Are you alright with that?”

Ben doesn't answer. “Wait, who are the other guests involved?”

Chris purses his lips, gives Ben a sad look, and then spins on his heel as if he never asked anything at all. “Let's get going. We’re running on very precious time.”

He holds his fists at his side, trying not to get too irritated as they walk through the halls, Ben positioned between them all like some sort of goddamn criminal who might explode at any minute. And he didn't think he would ever be back in these halls, not really. He made peace with never stepping foot here again, from moving on front this point of his life, and now here he is again, reliving every little memory.

Like his freshman year locker. Where he first met Leslie Knope. His eyes linger there, and then they're torn away just as fast so he can be shoved into a classroom, two other people already sitting inside.

“Oh,” he chokes, as he recognizes one of them. “Mr. Swanson. Hi.”

Ron Swanson barely notices Ben, just trails his eyes over him and gives a curt nod. He supposes this is normal, because Ron has never been one for talking or pleasantries, but still, it makes Ben nervous. He's known Ron for four years as their Student Council teacher (and one year in woodshop, which was a special kind of hell full of splinters), and the look in his eyes is different. A little more guarded, a little more sad.

“You know Ron Swanson,” Chris adds from behind Ben, and then he gestures to the second guest, a short and severe-looking woman that Ben has never seen before, but there's a familiar, hard look in her eyes. “And this is Marlene Griggs-Knope. She is—”

“Leslie’s mother,” Ben finishes, as if in a trance. “Is that right?”

Marlene looks at him, surveys him, up and down, and he automatically feels like he is dirt under her shoe. “I am,” she says in a clipped voice. “I take it you’ve heard what happened to my daughter.”

The police chief leads Ben to a seat in front of this small crowd, and he feels more watched than ever, every eye on him adds pressure, weighing him down. “Sort of,” he says, smoothing his palms over his jeans. “I mean— I’ve heard… bits and pieces. From friends.”

“What friends?” the chief asks.

“Um, Ann Perkins.” He wouldn't call her a friend, necessarily, but it's not a distinction that feels particularly important. “She told me that Leslie went missing.”

“Is that all you know?”

“I know that she didn't show up at graduation.”

Chris clears his throat. “Ben was Vice President of the Student Council, while Leslie Knope was President. When she didn't show up to say her speech, the responsibility fell on him.” He looks to Ben, who nods quickly. The chief writes this all down.

“And this speech, it was something you really wanted to do?”

Ben swallows hard. “Yes.”

He continues to write things down, and the lump in Ben’s throat won't go away. Oh god, this is about to start looking really, really bad, he can just tell. It's dipping into dangerous territory that will  _ not  _ make him look entirely blameless.

“Can I just ask…” he says quickly, as if to postpone his inevitable destruction, “why are we here? At the school? With Traeger and Swanson and Leslie’s mom? What's… what's going on here? Am I allowed to know that, at least?”

They all exchange glances, and it reminds him of parents at the dinner table. He's young, so they assume he understands nothing. 

“Ben,” Chris says softly, almost a little nervous. “The school is working very closely with the Pawnee Police in this investigation. The people in this room care very much about finding Leslie Knope and getting her back home to safety. And the first part in doing that is interviewing potential suspects.”

“And you think I’m a potential suspect?”

“I think it's possible, yes.” When Chris is honest, his words come with a punch, succinct and raw. “It's well known you and Leslie didn't get along, not for the entire time you were both students here.”

“Actually, if you could tell me more about that?” the chief asks Ben, and he feels like ripping his hair out.

“Yeah, fine, we didn't get along. It was like… a rivalry. We would argue in Student Council and we were competitive, we always pitted each other against the other. But it was just that, I swear— I would never do anything to her.”

“A little Student Council rivalry? And part of this rivalry was the graduation speech, yes?”

“Yes,” Ben chokes, low in his throat, and his hands curl into fists, his eyes flicker down to the floor. “We fought a little about the speech, yeah. But it was nothing, I was totally okay with her doing it in the end—”

“Mr. Wyatt, we have a quote on record regarding the graduation speech, if you would tell us about that?” The chief flicks through his little notebook and lands on a page, clearing his throat. “You were heard on the day of graduation telling others that you would be willing to  _ kill  _ for the chance to do the speech, do you remember this?”

_ It’s all Ben can do to push his irritation back, smooth his sweaty palms on his jeans, and force a smile to his face. “It's no problem,” he lies. “I mean, I would've killed to do that speech, but… Leslie’s got it. She'll do great at it.” _

Oh god.

He remembers.

He remembers it so clearly now, his own words echoing in his head, said in front of all of the Student Council. Words that meant  _ nothing, absolutely nothing,  _ because he would never mean it literally, coming back now to bite him in the ass. And he can see how terribly incriminating it is, that he said he would  _ kill  _ to do the speech, on the  _ same day Leslie disappeared. _

He can't get himself out of this one.

Oh god,  _ oh god. _

_ He's done for. _

“I didn't…” he stumbles, mouth hanging open, “I didn't mean that… not like—”

“But you said it.” The chief raises an eyebrow. “Correct?”

“Oh god,  _ fuck,  _ I did, but not like that!” His arms fly out wildly, sitting forward in his seat, and his fingers move to curl into his hair. “Not like that, it was a figure of speech, oh god— you have to know I didn't mean it like that. I would  _ never,  _ not in a million years— who the hell turned me in for saying that?”

Both Chris and Ron were in the room at the time, and they're staring at him now with such a sincere lack of empathy.

“I did, Wyatt,” Ron says. “I turned you in.”

***

**FRESHMAN YEAR**

_ “What?!  _ With  _ him?  _ No no, no no no—”

Leslie stood from her desk with her arms flailing, every Student Council member staring right at her. She kept whipping her head around to look between Ron and Ben, grasping for some sort of explanation.

“You can't do this, Mr. Swanson,” she gasped, a slight whine to her voice. “We can't— We can't  _ share  _ this position, we can't!”

“You can, and you will,” Ron grunted, leaning back in his seat. “End of discussion.”

_ “But— But Mr. Swanson!—” _

She continued to yell, to plead, to do anything to persuade Ron to look the other way, to change the rules, give her what she wanted. And as she continued, the Council stopped looking at Leslie and started looking at Ben, who sat still in his desk, just trying to process this whole situation.

He had only known Leslie Knope for a month, but she already hated his guts. And now she was bound to hate him even more. Any slight remaining possibility of friendship they ever had was quickly washed down the drain when Ron announced their running for Freshman Representative was a  _ tie— a godforsaken tie—  _ and Ben and Leslie would be sharing the position and responsibilities for the year.

One of them was supposed to win. They had been going toe to toe over it for the past month, running their campaigns against each other, giving each other dirty looks, quiet insults. Everyday it got dirtier to play, everyday they kind of hated each other a little more. And this was the last straw, the final nail on the coffin.

And Ben didn't even know what to say.

He couldn't very well  _ give it up,  _ because that would mean Leslie would win round one, and he actually really wanted to be on the Student Council. And he couldn't ask Leslie to give it up either, he didn't think he knew anyone more stubborn than she was.

“Can't you just  _ give it to me,  _ Mr. Swanson?” Leslie pleaded, clasping her hands in front of it. “He's a jerk, you don't want him here anyway. You  _ know  _ I'll be way better at it, you know me—”

“Woah, woah, woah,” Ben said suddenly, and the council hushed until everyone could hear him. “No, you don't get to discount me because you think I'm a jerk.”

“I don't  _ think  _ you're a jerk, I  _ know  _ you're a jerk.”

“Leslie—”

_ “Wyatt,”  _ she hissed, full of derision, hitting him like a slap in the face. “Just face it. You know I'll do a better job at being the Freshman Rep than you would.”

Ben glared, then, because she knew  _ just  _ how to get to him, exactly how to make him stand up and fight. All his life, he had kept to the side, but something about her made him want to explode. “I don't think so,” he told her, standing up. They both took a step towards each other. “You just want it all to yourself because you're  _ selfish,  _ Knope, and you can't stand the idea of sharing your spot on the council.”

She balled her fists up in her sweater and stomped her foot, face burning red. “And  _ you  _ are making up lies because you think it'll make you look better. You only want this because I want it, because you want to take everything I want away from me.  _ I’m Ben Wyatt, and I want to destroy Leslie Knope’s dreams—” _

“Or, have you considered the fact that not everything is about you?” They stood inches apart in the middle of the classroom, Leslie trying to look tall, Ben pointing his finger at her. There was a strange tension between them, something that made him uncomfortable, something that made him feel almost lost. He forgot what he was saying, for a moment, forgot anyone else was around. “Maybe I want this because I really like this kind of work, have you thought about that? No, of course not, because with Leslie Knope it's all about what  _ you  _ want. Who cares what anyone else thinks when you can steamroll over everyone else!”

“Oh my god,  _ I hate you!”  _ she screamed, properly exploding. “I hate you so much, I can't believe I ever thought…  _ you're such an ass, Wyatt.” _

“At least I'm not—” Ben started, but he never got to finish. Leslie pushed past him, crashing into his shoulder and sending him crashing into the desk behind him. By the time he righted himself, she was gone, out the door, taking all of her things with her. 

The room was deadly quiet. Ron sat staring at the door where Leslie left, and honestly it was kind of a miracle she didn't get in trouble for it, didn't get asked to come back. But Ron was always careful about what he cared about.

And apparently  _ Leslie  _ was something he cared about.

“Wyatt,” Ron barked, standing up slowly. “Outside. Now.”

Ben didn't dare to go against Ron, so he straightened himself out and followed him out the classroom door, waiting for the yelling, or for him to just smack him, maybe kill him, even, oh god, he was going to die at only fourteen years old—

“Are you out your damn mind, Wyatt?” Ron hissed, and Ben was pretty sure teachers weren't supposed to talk to students like that, but he was way too scared to care. “What the hell was that all about?”

“What do you mean?” he stammered. “She started it! She was the one who was yelling, asking you to change it—”

“And you yelled back, didn't you? You acted like a complete ass to her.”

Ben could only gape at Ron, appalled enough now to stand his ground and cross his arms over his chest. “Wait, how is this fair? I'm getting yelled at because she decided to pick a fight with me?”

“You're getting yelled at because you need to learn how to pick your battles, son,” he said, glaring. “You don't win any extra points by making a girl cry, and around Leslie, trust me, you're always going to lose.” Ron shoved his fingertips under his belt and stood back, squaring his shoulders. His look was considerably softer now, something older, something far more real than Ben thought he was capable of. “Understand, Wyatt, that when it comes to Leslie, I am on her side first and foremost. She drives me up the wall, and she's insane, but when it comes down to it, she comes before you. You ought to remember that, or next time it'll be a detention.”

Which was very big of Ron, because he never gave out detentions. Something about not believing in them, or not caring enough about behavior to give them. He seemed to like chaos and inefficiency.

Ben studied Ron, thought very deeply about his words, and frowned. “Why?” he asked. “Why do you care so much about Leslie? She's a new student here, just the same as me and all the other freshmen. What's so great about her?”

Ron purses his lips, his mustache bristling, and sighed. “She's a freshman, but she's been here longer than the rest of you have. I've gotten to know her. She's come to me when she needed it. And that's all you need to know.”

He remembered, then, his conversation he had with Leslie when he first met her, just a month ago, on the first day of school. Standing by their lockers, when he questioned her knowledge of Pawnee High School and she told him very enthusiastically how long she’d been involved in all their clubs. He wondered, then, what made her an exception to Pawnee’s rule, and it slowly started to make a bit more sense to him now, as it became obvious by Ron’s tone of voice that he cared for her as if she were his own daughter.

It became very clear to him, then, that Ron Swanson was not his ally— not in this battle, at least.

***

**PRESENT DAY**

Ron stares at Ben very pointedly, unashamed of it, as if he's waiting for Ben to speak.

“Mr. Swanson,” he chokes, “you know I didn't mean it like that, like a threat. You  _ have  _ to know that—”

“The girl is  _ missing,  _ Wyatt,” Ron snaps. “I don't have time to guess what is or isn't a threat.”

“I— but look at me!” He flings his arms and his legs out, as if to emphasize just how tiny and skinny he is. “I could never hurt anyone, let alone Leslie—”

“Leslie, who is your rival?” This time it's Marlene that cuts in so smoothly, her words like a knife that instantly cut off any of Ben’s attempts to defend himself. She raises one brow at him, just the one, tilting her chin down in a way that makes him feel five years younger, like he's being chastised and sent to the corner. “Why wouldn't you hurt a girl that you've been nothing but horrible to for the last four years? The girl you called names, that you made cry? The girl you hated, who hated you? Why in the world would you  _ not  _ take an opportunity to hurt her for the chance to do your graduation speech?”

The words are lost in Ben’s throat, Marlene’s accusation hitting him like a punch to the gut, slapping him upside the head, finding their way inside him until they pierce his heart. He feels like he's bleeding, and the panic sets in again, the heartache, that terrible feeling of regret, never being able to take back any of the words he said.

Never being able to take back those four years of hell with her.

“I didn't hate her,” he whispers, and his head drops into his hands, tears threatening to spill. “Especially not towards the end. Actually, we were… we were starting to become  _ friends.” _

But this is difficult to prove, and harder for anyone to believe. Everything he says just looks like a lie, no matter how raw or emotional he gets, and that thought makes him want to scream.

He wipes the tears from his eyes almost violently, and the room looks a little blurry, a little too bright. “I would never hurt her,” he admits, voice breaking. “Never in a million years would I ever hurt her.”

They let him sit there like that for a while, just crying silently into his hands, wiping them away and trying to pretend like they don't exist. And he can't tell if it looks like an act or not, but he can't be bothered to analyze the situation any closer. His heart is overflowing and exploding and it's all too much, way too much, especially for a hangover that hasn't been cured and way too little sleep to go off of.

He just wishes none of this was real. If she were here right now, she would laugh at him, and he would laugh back. At least she'd be smiling.

Chris sighs, then, wringing his hands together, offering Ben the softest of smiles, like he feels bad for him, against his better judgement. “Ben,” he says gently. “We’re not convicting you, I promise. We’re just asking you questions so we can understand better, to paint the whole story. You get that, don't you?”

Ben nods mutely. He really does get it. He would be suspicious of himself, too.

“Okay,” Chris continues. “Then are you okay to continue?”

He's not. “Yeah. I'm fine.”

“Great. Do you think you could tell us when you last saw Leslie Knope?”

Ben swallows hard, and thinks back to that day, but it doesn't take much searching to remember it. It's still so vivid in his memory, seeing her in front of him, because every interaction he ever had with her stuck in his mind for days, haunted him or left him on a strange high. This particular one gave him a nasty nasty in his mouth. “The last day of school,” he says, and he pictures the exact hallway. Just outside this classroom, actually. “Um, the end of school. Class just let out and I ran into her in the hallway on my way to the Student Council meeting.”

The police chief frowns at him, looking back and forth between Ben and his notes. “Did you talk to her?”

Ben swallows hard, his eyes flicker back downwards. “Yeah.” He imagines her, so small and burning and bright, knocking into him, yelling at him to watch himself. The first time she had yelled at him in over a week. Closer and closer to finally giving each other peace. “We talked, actually. It was, um… it was a little tense. Because we weren't looking where we were going, so we almost knocked each other over.”

“What did you talk about?”

He shrugged. “The speech. How I wanted to do it. She called me out, and honestly, she was right to. She was in the right. I needed to be yelled at so I'm glad that she did. She looked… really rough.”

The details of her face come to him very suddenly in his memory. How pale she was, skittish, bags under her eyes. Her knuckles were white and she trembled as she carried all her books in her arms, her voice broke when she yelled at him.

“Rough?”

“I remember thinking she looked sick. I didn't think anything of it, not seriously. But I asked her if she was okay, and then she just…”

_ A classroom door opens around the hall, and Leslie jumps, spinning around. “I'm fine,” she insists, but everything about her suggests otherwise. “I'm fine, I'm… I'm super fine.” She pushes past him, checking his shoulder and shoving him back into a locker. “Just leave me alone.” _

“She left. She jumped away and then she left. And that was the last time I saw her.”

Chris looks down at his feet, while the police chief frowns at his notes. Ron won't stop glaring at Ben, but it's Marlene that is the most intimidating now, looking at him like she's staring into his soul, like she knows more about himself than he does, and all Ben can think about is how much her steely gaze looks just like Leslie’s. Leslie, who once told him under the influence of alcohol that her mother hardly pays attention to anything she ever does— and now here she is on the frontlines as if she's never done anything wrong, as if she's been nothing but a saint in Leslie’s life.

Ben feels very inclined to dislike Marlene Griggs-Knope.

Marlene clears her throat, and it's a mistake to look her in the eye. “I think you might just be the last person to have seen my daughter, Mr. Wyatt,” she says, sounding oddly calm. “She never came home that day. All of her things are untouched.”

And he knew this, from Ann, that she never came home that day, but it never occurred to Ben that he might've been the last to see her. The pieces come together very quickly in his head, the idea that her room is untouched, so if she ran away, she took nothing with her. If she ran away, she did so quickly, without any thought, without any predetermined plans. But Leslie Knope hardly did anything just on a whim.

He knows, then, in his heart of hearts, that she didn't just run away.

“I didn't do anything to her,” he pleads, because he knows now exactly how bad this looks for him, that what minuscule evidence they have on her disappearance points only in his direction. “I swear, I swear on anything and everything that I would never do anything to her—”

“But we can't say that for sure, young man,” the chief says, and he puts his notes away, takes a step forward. A chill runs down Ben’s spine, and suddenly he's so deathly terrified that he can't seem to move an inch. “You understand that we’re going to have to take you in, at least for the night.”

Circus music explodes in Ben’s head. “You—  _ you can do that?” _

“It's just for the night. We’ll get you a bed at the station. We just need to figure some things out, go over some notes, and we’re not done with you yet. We just need a recess, and we can't have you deciding you're going to try and get away.”

_ “I'm not going to do that because I didn't—” _

“Ben,” Ron snaps, and it's strange, now, to hear his first name on his tongue. “Remember to pick your battles, son.”

So Ben won't pick this battle, not against the cops. But he decides right then and there, in that tiny classroom where all the world is against him, that he  _ will  _ pick Leslie's battle. He'll pick hers every damn time.


	7. Chapter 7

It's Ben’s worst nightmare.

At the risk of him  _ running away,  _ they have him in a cell, an actual goddamn cell, like he's a legitimate prisoner. They insist he hasn't been arrested, he's not on trial, and that it's just a precautionary measure, but he still calls bullshit. This can't be legal, this can't be real.

The bed is tiny and cold and he hates it, it makes him feel stiff and it sends shivers down his spine. The floor is actually preferable, so this is where he stays for the meantime, cross-legged on the concrete, grabbing a tight hold of the bars in front of him until his knuckles turn white and his palms are numb.

He stares into space. He tries not to think.

But that's the funny thing about emotion— sometimes it can almost be easy to suppress it when there's so much to do. If he keeps his mind occupied, if he keeps running around, trying to make sense of things, staying distracted, it won't hurt so bad. It's like he's numbed himself to all this pain and only now, when there's nothing to distract him, does it come out in full force, crashing over him in waves.

Ben has been crying a lot lately, but never like this.

Tonight, he sobs, so raw and real that it actually hurts, rips at his throat— and he doesn't bother trying to hide it this time. He grips the bars of the cell and rocks back and forth on the floor, allowing himself to wail to his heart's content. He must look like a mess, he knows, but he doesn't care, not anymore. 

_ It's his fault. His fault. _

_ All his fault. _

He is ruined and he is broken, maybe for the rest of his life, even if they do find Leslie again. It could be nothing, she could be found tomorrow with some perfect story to explain her absence, but Ben still wouldn't be able to forgive himself. Not for the way he treated her, not for years of hell, not for causing one final battle just as graduation was finally upon them. He had been selfish, scared, a coward, and he sees it now plain as day.

Leslie might not be totally gone.  _ But she could be. _

And there's still a chance it's Ben’s fault.

He wishes it could've been different. He wishes he had known. 

He wishes  _ she  _ had known.

***

He doesn't sleep well.

The hours blur together and he doesn't move from his spot, just rocking back and forth and switching between sitting up and lying down. His head rests uncomfortably against the cool concrete, almost sharp in the way it presses against him, but he doesn't care because it keeps him awake as long as possible. 

If he's honest, he's kind of scared to sleep. He doesn't want to know what his dreams have in store for him.

But sleep captures him anyway, against his will, his cheek against the concrete and his eyes forcefully shutting. He's out before he can even register that he's slipping— but that doesn't mean it's a peaceful night.

His dreams are blurs of colors and blonde hair and her voice, yelling at him, over and over again. How could you, Ben? Look what you did.

_ Look what you did. Your fault. Your fault. _

_ Your fault. _

It makes him want to scream but he can't seem to wake up, can't force himself out of this hellish nightmare where she hates him more than she ever did in reality. And he wishes it were  _ him,  _ he wishes she could have stayed and he would go, because Pawnee will always be Leslie's more than it's ever been his.

He's lucky when he does wake up, it's something like a miracle. His and Leslie’s screams mingle into something that doesn't sound like either of them, shouting his name, crying with a sort of raw desperation. She shouts for him and she bangs on the bars of his cell until Ben jolts awake, his head hitting the leg of his bed.

He sits up instantly, rubbing the back of his head where he can already feel a bump forming. But there's no time to investigate the bruise, because it seems he has a visitor.

_ “What the fuck did you do to her?” _

Ann Perkins is on the other side of his cell looking like hell incarnate, holding on to the bars and shaking them like she has every intention of pushing them open to rip him apart. He's actually never been more terrified of her, he thinks, jolting up and scooting back farther into his cell.

“Um— Ann?”

_ “I know you did something to her!”  _ she screams, slamming the bars, and Ben jumps again, wincing as her voice gets even higher pitched than before. “They told me, they told me you did something. Her mom, and the cops, when I came here, Chief Sanderson, they  _ all told me.  _ They said you would  _ kill to be in her place, what the fuck did you do, Wyatt?” _

“Ann, please calm down—”

_ “NO, YOU CALM DOWN!” _

Ann is losing her mind, rapidly, breathing heavily and her chest heaving, hair in knots, no makeup on. She's dressed all in sweats and she's shaking, her face flushed, as if she hasn't slept more than an hour since graduation night. And he wants to make sure she's alright, ask her how she is, but now clearly isn't the time, not when she's seconds away from finding out how best to murder him.

“Ann,” Ben starts cautiously, pulling himself up to his feet, “I promise you, I didn't do anything to Leslie—”

“Liar,” she spits, but it's softer this time, like she's lost some of her energy to yell. “You liar, they  _ told me.” _

“Yeah, well, they're wrong.” Ben pauses, purses his lips. “Okay, not entirely.”

“You  _ did  _ do something to her?”

_ “No!  _ No, I did nothing to her. On graduation day, I said I would kill to do the speech, that's it. I didn't mean… I would never mean…”

But it's not enough, it sets Ann off again. She explodes in a burst of tears, throwing her head back, rattling at the bars of his cell as if she's strong enough to pull them apart. Ben is inclined to think that in this state, if she sets her mind to it, she could definitely do it. Unluckily for him.

“Benjamin  _ fucking  _ Wyatt, you better tell me right the hell now what you did to my  _ best friend.  _ Do you hear me? That's my best friend,  _ my best friend—” _

“I didn't, I really didn't—”

“STOP LYING! Stop lying stop lying, you've always hated her, haven't you? In the end, you really hated her?”

“What? Oh god, no—”

“You did! You gave her hell for four years…”

“We both did, but we tried to—”

“—fucking  _ rivals,  _ enemies, always at each other's throats! Just admit it, Wyatt, you were jealous of her and hated her and… and you hated what happened between the two of you—”

“ _ Woah,  _ wait, what do you know about what happened between us?—”

“—and then on the last day of school you… you…  _ kidnapped  _ her or something, or you…” Her voice starts to choke on the words, trying to form them, but Ben knows she won't be able to. Accusing him of  _ killing her  _ only makes the possible reality of Leslie being dead all too real, and that's something neither of them can handle right now.

Suddenly, it's a lot harder for Ben to be upset. “Oh, Ann…”

She chokes on a sob, taking a step backwards and burying her face in her hands, muffling her cries. She's broken, soft, alone. And she's trying so, so hard.  _ “Please,”  _ she groans, low in her throat. “Please, please bring her back to me. I'm  _ begging  _ you, I'll do anything… anything you want, if you bring her back, get her back to me, I can't take this anymore. I don't know what to do with myself, and I'm losing my mind, and… and Jen  _ told  _ me not to come here, not without her, but I came anyway because I need you to know that there is  _ nothing  _ in this world I won't do for my best friend back.  _ Please.” _

Ben wishes he could give her what she wants. He wishes that more than anything, that this was simply a matter of  _ giving in  _ and bringing Leslie back from wherever she's hiding, wherever she's being kept. He wants to hug Ann, actually, and tell her that he'll bring her back, if it's the last goddamn thing he’ll do. He wants to tell her it'll be alright and that he can fix this, that it'll be over in no time, that there's no need to cry.

But that's not true. None of it is true.

There's every reason to cry.

“Ann,” Ben says, as softly as he can, coming up to the bars to get closer to her weeping form. “Ann, I'm so, so sorry. I… I swear to you, if there was anything I could do… if I knew anything at all… I would do it.”

“No, you  _ wouldn't,”  _ she hisses. “You're nothing but a bully and a criminal.”

He wants to respond, he really does. And he even opens his mouth to say something, not even knowing what, when another door flies open, metal crashing against the wall, slamming again with a heavy thud. There's very purposeful footsteps, the sound of tiny little heels clicking against the floor, and really Ben can only thank this new arrival for keeping him from saying anything he might've ended up regretting.

_ “Ann!”  _ A voice calls, and Jen Barkley runs around the corner, completely out of breath, looking as exhausted and worn out as Jen really ever can— which is to say,  _ not much.  _ “Babe, oh my god, I was  _ looking  _ for you, and of course you come here. Of course—”

“I'm sorry,” Ann shouts quickly, eagerly cutting Jen off. “I'm sorry, I know I told you I wouldn't, but he  _ knows  _ something, Jen, he does.”

Jen checks Ann, grabbing a hold of her. Her hands pause on her face, brushing her hair out of her face, looking into her eyes as if to survey the damage done. “Oh, Ann,” Jen sighs, and Ann gently leans her cheek into Jen’s palm. “Did he tell you he knows something?”

“Wow, good to see you too, Jen,” Ben says, not even hiding his clear irritation. “No, I've been doing fine, how about you?”

She gives him a dirty look, letting go off Ann to cross her arms over her chest. “Hey, Wyatt,” she greets him, clipped and hard. He would be offended, but it's not out of the usual for Jen, especially in this kind of situation. “Care to tell me what you know?”

Ben rolls his eyes and puts a hand to his brow. “No, that's just it, I  _ don't  _ know anything. Nothing more than either of you know. The police especially know nothing and I'm the best lead they’ve got—”

“But that has to count for something, right?” Ann interrupts, tugging on Jen’s arm. “It makes  _ sense.  _ They hated each other for years—”

“Can you really call it  _ hatred?”  _ Jen asks.

_ “Yes.  _ He was awful to her, wasn't he? And he wanted to do the speech at graduation, doesn't it make sense that he could've hurt her?”

There's silence, Ann looking up at Jen with large, pleading eyes. She's begging, pouting even, with her lower lip jutting out, all while Jen looks Ben up and down. It's nerve wracking, really, and it's for this reason Ben keeps quiet, unable to find any words, just swallowing hard as Jen studies him.

Ben likes to think he and Jen are kind of close. Not  _ friends,  _ exactly, but they have an understanding of each other. They tend to respect each other, in terms of their work, as silently as they can. They made a great team in the Student Council, but Jen kind of made a great team with a lot of people. Leslie, especially. And Jen never picked sides, or picked favorites. Really, this could go either way for him.

Finally, Jen shakes her head. “I don't think he did it.”

_ “What?” _

“You don't?”

“Nope.” Jen taps her foot, and then gestures at Ben with a flip of her wrist. “Look at him, babe, he's a twig. He couldn't hurt her if he tried.”

Ben can't help but be a little personally offended at this, even if it is helping his case. “Hey—”

“Don't start,” she hisses. “You're still on thin ice.”

“Oh god,” Ann cries, putting her head in her hands. “Oh god, I just… I need  _ some  _ kind of answer, and he's the only one I have right now. I  _ know  _ he probably didn't do it but… but it feels better to think I have a lead on it than nothing at all. I just…”

Jen wraps an arm around Ann, pulling her close. “Hey, I know, baby. And we  _ will  _ figure this out, okay? But we’re going to do it the right way.” She looks back up to Ben. “You don't know anything about this?”

“No,” Ben breathes, reaching forward to curl his fingers around the bars of the cell. Ann is burying herself into Jen’s side, watching Ben warily still. “I really don't. It's all been a big mess, and all I knew was that Leslie went missing— when Ann told me about it. Then all of a sudden Traeger and the cops were at my door and bringing me to the high school.”

“Wait, the high school? Why would they bring you there?”

“God, hell if I know. The school is working closely with the cops, I guess. Swanson was there. And Leslie’s mom.”

A look crosses over Ann’s face, and it's clear her thoughts on Leslie’s mom are not too pleasant. 

“What the hell was Swanson doing there?” Jen asks.

“Actually, he turned me in. Do you remember our last Council meeting before grad, when Traeger came in and I said I would kill to do the speech?”

Jen’s eyes go dark, understanding instantly. “Oh… wow. Okay, you really fucked yourself over there, you realize, right?”

Ben groans, hitting his head. “God, I know, and I don't know what to do about it.”

“I mean, is there anyone who might look more incriminating? You and Leslie have been at odds for years, sure, but she's… well, she's  _ Leslie.  _ If there's anyone else that's had problems with her…”

He thinks, he  _ really  _ thinks, looking back on all four years of watching Leslie Knope. And it's ridiculous, really, how quickly it comes to him. An idea that won't just distract from him, but one that could be an  _ actual, genuine lead,  _ one to give the police when they are so clearly struggling. He imagines fighting, yelling in the halls, tears, hiding in the bathroom…

“Oh god,” Ben whispers, “I think I might have it. Ann, you remember sophomore year? Leslie’s ex? You know—”

Ann chokes, nearly gasping. “You're right,” she interrupts. “You're right. Mark Brendanawicz.”

***

**SOPHOMORE YEAR**

“Someone is in a bad mood already.”

Ben slammed his bag down, throwing himself down into his seat on their favorite lunch bench. He didn't even bother to pull out his lunch, feeling a little too sick to swallow anything right now. “Not in a bad mood,” he hissed.

Andy and Tom both stared at him, then exchanged glances with each other.

“Dude,” Andy said, “You're like… super pissed off. You're like, breathing fire.”

“I am not  _ breathing fire—” _

“You kinda are, man.” Tom shoved a bite of food in his mouth, and then looked over Ben’s shoulder. “It's because of that, isn't it?”

“Because of what?” Ben spun around in his seat, looking around the courtyard and trying to follow Tom’s eyes, but it took no time at all. As soon as he turned around, he saw her, always the first person he noticed in every room. It infuriated him, pissed him off, but it did more than ever now. “Oh my god.”

Leslie Knope sat not in her own seat, but on the lap of Mark Brendanawicz, a jerk that Ben knew only because he was on the football team with Andy. And now, because he just so happened to be  _ dating  _ Leslie.

Not that Ben cared who Leslie was dating. But nobody liked to see two jerks dating each other.

“Why would I care about that?” Ben insisted, as Mark wrapped his arm tighter around Leslie, pressing a kiss to her hair. “It's nothing to me.”

“Funny how you knew exactly what I was talking about without me having to specify, though,” Tom laughed. “Is Benji  _ jealous?”  _ He held the word out like a song, his voice getting higher. Ben shot him a look.

_ “No—  _ shut  _ up,  _ Tom, I'm not…”

Leslie giggled at something Mark said, and Ben scowled.

“You're breathing fire again!” Andy laughed, pointing at Ben. “Like a dragon. What's your deal with Leslie anyway?”

“There isn't… there's no  _ deal.” _

“Really? Because I think I know what it is.”

Ben turned quickly to glare at Andy. “What do you think it is?”

_ “She stole money from you.” _

Tom hit his head, and Ben just rolled his eyes. “Oh god, no. She didn't. There isn't any deal. It's just irritating. Public displays of affection are gross.”

“Says the one who was hardcore making out with Shauna Malwae-Tweep in front of her locker just a couple months ago.”

“Yeah, well, maybe that's what soured me on it, okay? It's nothing, it's just annoying, shut up.”

Andy and Tom exchanged looks again, and Ben felt his blood boil.  _ Whatever.  _ Andy was oblivious and simple minded and Tom had only been Ben’s friend for a couple months now, what did he know about how he felt? Stupid, it was stupid. He wasn't even angry at anything at all, except maybe the two of  _ them,  _ now.

“Sure you're not jealous?” Tom asked, and he waggled his brows for added measure. “You're looking a little green. Tell me, who is it you wanna bone, Knope or Brendanawicz?”

Ben made a face, feigning a gag. “Neither.”

“What, not into guys?”

“Just not  _ that  _ guy—”

“Or not into blondes?”

“Exactly it.” Ben took the excuse and ran with it, worried that if it went on any longer, Tom would once again start to explain what he and his boyfriend Jean-Ralphio did in their  _ free time.  _ “I don't like blondes. And Leslie sucks. She's mean and not my type.”

“So, it doesn't matter at all to you that Knope and Brendanawicz are fighting right now?”

_ “What?” _

Ben spun around again, expecting it to be a lie, but a crowd was already growing. Leslie was slipping away from Mark, taking steps backwards from him, both of their arms flying in what was clearly becoming a very heated conversation. It wasn't their first fight, not by far— Ben had witnessed many moments between them over the last few months, but this was different. This was  _ bigger. _

“Looks kinda serious,” Andy noted, just as their voices started to rise. Ben couldn't help it, he stood up and inched closer. Morbid curiosity, he called it.

“Why are you saying all this?” Leslie asked, her voice cracking. “Why would you ever say that, Mark?”

The tiny crowd stood back, trying to pretend as if they weren't looking. Mark was staring daggers, his face bright red, watching as Leslie’s fell. “Why would I say  _ what,  _ the truth? I'm sick of this bullshit, Leslie, you never cared about me anyway. It's all about  _ Student Council—  _ you couldn't give a damn about me.”

“That's not true, you know that's not true—”

“Oh it's  _ more  _ than true. You're self centered and egotistical and you pass it off as caring for people, caring for the school, but I know the real you. I  _ know  _ that you just do it for show, as if to prove to yourself and everyone around you that you're some  _ superior being.”  _ Mark was yelling at this point, spitting the words out, making her flinch with each emphasized syllable. But he didn't care that he was scaring her, or that she was trembling, he just cared about hurting her as badly as possible.

And for some reason, that made Ben’s fists clench.

“Ben?” Andy called out, as Ben walked further across the courtyard and away from their table. “Where you going?”

He didn't answer, getting just close enough to Leslie and Mark to see them in more detail, without getting  _ so  _ close that they would obviously notice and tell him to shove off. What was most shocking was the tears— Leslie was starting to cry. She was pretending it was no big deal, balling up her fists and wiping them off her cheeks, sniffling over and over again while trying to keep a brave face, and something about that almost made Ben snap. He wasn't used to seeing other people make her cry. Just Ben. Only Ben could do that.

And he didn't quite like it when other people made her cry. It was bad enough when he did it.

“That's it,” Leslie choked, and she made a crossing motion with her arms. “I'm done. It's over. We’re breaking up.”

Mark gaped, his jaw dropping. “Excuse me?”

“We're breaking up,” she repeated. “I'm sorry, I can't do this anymore. Not like this. It's… it's too much. I really tried. I really tried to… whatever. It didn't work and it's over.”

She gasped as she said it, as if it was physically painful to get out, ending with her arms crossing over her chest. And while Leslie angry was one thing, Leslie  _ sad  _ was another. It was wrong, so wrong, like some crime against the universe. She wasn't supposed to be broken, wasn't supposed to be soft. She was supposed to fight, she was brave.

“No,” Mark hissed, shaking his head very decisively. “No, you don't make that call. I'm breaking up with you.”

“Oh, that's really mature of you, Mark—”

“Don't be such a goddamn  _ bitch,  _ Leslie,” he spat, and the silence that followed was almost comical, absolutely deafening. Leslie's jaw dropped, and she took a step backwards, holding her arms tighter around herself.

“What did you say?”

And it was the biggest shock, really, that it wasn't Leslie that asked, but  _ Ben,  _ stepping forward until he was standing right in front of the couple, so clearly seething, his fists at his sides. Ben didn't even bother to look at Leslie’s face, he really couldn't bear to, glaring instead at Mark, watching every new emotion cross his face as he realized what was going on.

_ “Wyatt?”  _ Mark was shocked, his brows rising, letting out something like a small, mocking laugh. “What the hell are  _ you  _ here for? This has nothing to do with—”

“I asked you a question,” Ben interrupted. “What did you just say to her?”

“I said she's a bitch,” he shrugged. “But you already know that, don't you? We should hang sometime, I've got some great stories that I think you'd love to hear.” Mark smirked, so smug, clear his mind was racing with ways to further humiliate and shame his now ex-girlfriend. But that wasn't Mark’s job. And Ben wouldn't let that happen, not here.

“Leave Knope the hell alone, do you hear me?” Ben told him, pointing his finger at his chest. “I don't wanna see you anywhere near her again. She said it's over, so leave her alone.”

Mark glared. “And what makes  _ you  _ think you're in any place to defend her? You're worse than any of the rest of the school—”

_ “Just leave her alone.  _ Leave her alone, Brendanawicz, I swear to god. She doesn't want you around. Piss off.”

It shouldn't have worked. Ben expected more of a fight, and he had been willing to give one. His brain was full of nothing but static and circus music and he was thinking only with his fists, inching to swing them, but Mark must've seen this in his face, recognized that this would only end in two ways, and chose the path that wouldn't bloody his nose.

“Whatever, man,” Mark said, rolling his eyes. “Have fun when you're jerking it to her later.”

He walked away, and the small crowd began to disperse through the courtyard, sensing the drama was over, and there wasn't going to be a fight today. There was a bit of disappointed mumbling, and Ben just turned, looking to head back to his table, grab his backpack, and get as far away as possible.

There were tiny footsteps behind him. A small, rushed tap on his shoulder.

“Hey,” Leslie said, completely breathless and in her smallest voice. Ben turned to face her, but couldn't find it in himself to really look at her, not know. Not after he just humiliated himself by standing up for her. No, he showed his hand, and he couldn't let himself get vulnerable now. “Hey, Ben.”

“Knope,” he replied cooley.

She looked down at her feet, her face still red, but he wasn't sure anymore if it was because of the breakup. It was the most  _ shy  _ she had ever been around him, and suddenly he knew exactly what she was doing here. “I just…” she started, swallowing hard and choking on the words. “I just wanted to make it clear that I still hate you, a lot. But what you did over there, you didn't have to do that, so I just wanted to say—”

“Don't bother,” Ben interrupted her, waving her away. The bell rang at that moment, signifying the end of lunch, and Ben shouldered his bag. “I don't care.” He pushed away from her, joining Andy and Tom at the steps, and he didn't once look back.

He was definitely never going to do something like that again.

***

**PRESENT DAY**

Ben, Ann, and Jen stand in front of Chief Sanderson, at their request to let Ben out of his cell. They're okay with this now, in the morning, but it's mostly because the three of them have become very insistent that they have a pressing lead on Leslie’s case.

“We think Ben might be innocent,” Jen says, taking the lead on this situation, as the most commanding out of the three of them,  _ easily. _

“I  _ know  _ I’m innocent,” Ben grumbles, and Jen shoots him a look.

“We never exactly said he was guilty,” the Chief says, crossing his arms over his chest. “But we’ll take any information you have. What's going on?”

“A name,” Ben says. “Take down a name. Mark Brendanawicz.”

“That's another kid at the high school.”

“Yes. Leslie’s ex-boyfriend.”

The Chief nods as if in sudden understanding, pulling out his notebook and writing down the name, letting Ann spell it out for him. “A bad one, I presume?”

“The worst,” Ann hisses. “The relationship itself was already really bad, he never really cared about her. But then there was the breakup, and Mark took it to heart. For two years after he always tried to start rumors about Leslie, whispering mean things to her in the halls, making up stories about her to his football buddies. He's an asshole, and he could never let it go. He… he told her once that she would regret leaving him, one day.”

The revelation is met with instant shock, the Chief writing that down, and Ben feels a shock through his whole body, gaping at Ann. “He  _ what?  _ You never once mentioned that part to me.”

Ann shrugs, avoids looking at him. “I suspected you. Didn't really want to tell  _ you  _ anything.”

“Thank you kids for that,” the Chief says, closing his notebook. “I'll look into it. But until we can get the kid here, I’ll need Wyatt to stay at least nearby, alright?”

Ben thinks it's complete bullshit, but he's too tired to argue. The Chief walks away and Ben is left with Ann and Jen, holding each other, whispering softly.

“Hey,” Jen whispers, so softly, squeezing Ann's hand. “You're tired. And dehydrated. Sit down and let me go get you some water from my car, alright?”

“Alright,” Ann mumbles, keeping a hold of Jen’s hand until she slips away, watching her as she walks out the door. She sighs, and faces Ben a little awkwardly, slumping next to him on a bench that he's already claimed as his own.

“I understand,” Ben says to her after a moment. She doesn't look at him. “I don't blame you, you know. I would've suspected me, too.”

“Don't think I'm feeling sorry about it,” she snaps. “I'll suspect everyone in the world until I get her back. You don't get it.”

Ben shrugs. “Maybe I don't,” he admits. “Maybe I'm just some asshole with no care for human life. But listen, I'm getting really tired of this. Even if they get Mark in here, how good do you really think they'll be at questioning him?”

Ann purses her lips. “I don't know. I really don't. They haven't done a very good job so far. Just what they've done to you is proof of that.”

“Exactly. And they didn't even know Mark  _ existed.  _ Shouldn't they have immediately taken notes about all her exes? All her friends and enemies? Anyone who knew her or was close to her? But they had to find out about one of her asshole exes from  _ us.” _

“Oh  _ god.”  _ Ann starts to cry, leaning forward and burying her face in her hands. “It's too much. It's all too much, and I'm already feeling so hopeless. How are they ever going to find her?”

“Maybe we just don't trust the cops,” Ben says, and it's so nonchalant, like it means nothing. “We let them do their thing, but we also do our thing.”

“What do you mean?”

“We can find Leslie. You and me. And Jen, and Tom and Andy, and anyone else who might want to help. We would be better at it than these guys, anyway.” Ann starts to look up, glancing at Ben sideways, and there's a glimmer of hope in her eyes. “Look, I'm just sick of waiting around, doing nothing. It's driving me crazy, not being able to  _ do  _ something. So let's lead this thing. You and I, okay? Call it the…  _ Leslie Knope Recovery Task Force.” _

Ann cracks a smile at that, and holds out a hand to shake. “I like that,” she says, her hand cold in his. “I guess I'll trust you, Wyatt.”

“Good,” he grins, shoving his hand back in his pocket. That static in his brain is coming back, and heavier than ever, thinking of this monumental and draining task they have ahead of them. But it's too late to turn back now. “Because at this point, you really can't afford not to.”


	8. Chapter 8

Mark Brendanawicz is not at all happy about being brought into the police station.

Ben thinks it's a little unfair, as he watches Mark walk in with police on either side of him, that  _ he  _ isn't being dragged to the high school for some big interrogation. He doesn't have to face down Ron Swanson or look into Marlene Griggs-Knope’s eyes, so eerily similar to her daughter’s. He doesn't even have to deal with Chris Traeger— just Chief Sanderson and the other cops.

“We’ll talk to him,” a cop informs Ben, just as Mark comes in through the door. “Thank you for the tip.”

“Yeah,” Ben mumbles, and his eyes slip, catch Mark’s. The recognition is immediate, the dots connect too fast. “Um, so when can I get out of here?”

Mark starts to struggle, the police on either side of him catching him by the elbow. Mark is strong, though, and he definitely gets dangerously close to Ben as they walk, definitely knows that Ben has something to do with this.

_ “Wyatt!”  _ Mark calls out, as he's pulled away. “You did this, Wyatt, didn't you? Like some kind of sick, twisted revenge?  _ What the fuck, Wyatt?”  _

He screams more, but it becomes unintelligible, the door slamming shut behind him. And Ben just pretends he didn't hear it, that nothing happened at all, staring up at the cop and waiting for his question to be answered. He quirks a brow.

“Well?”

“Stick around for just a bit,” the cop says. “If Brendanawicz still looks like a promising subject, you'll be able to go home.”

It's not the answer he wants, but he’ll take it. Ann and Jen have long since left, Ann with promises to call Ben as soon as she can, but it means he's alone. Alone on this bench in the Pawnee police department, waiting for god knows how long it'll take to find out Mark Brendanawicz is every bit the asshole Ben has always known him to be.

He's so confident, actually, that Mark  _ might actually be it,  _ that when he's given back his phone, he instantly starts to send a couple texts. First, to Tom. As soon as he gets out of here, he’ll need a place to go, and his own house is the last place he wants to be right now. And Tom Haverford is  _ known  _ for being the best house to gather.

_ ‘Almost out of here. Throw together something small, gathering place in your backyard. We’ve got people to talk to.’ _

It's quick, and very vague, but Ben doesn't have the time to explain. Thankfully, Tom responds in less than a minute.

_ 'I'm on it, Benji, can Jean-Ralphio be there?’ _

_ ‘Please. Andy too. And April, while you're at it.’ _

With Tom, Jean-Ralphio, Andy, and April confirmed on their guest list, Ben gets to inviting the others. He tells Ann the time and place and tells her to bring Jen, and for extra measure, Ben texts Donna Meagle too, just in case. It shouldn't be a problem, considering she's neighbors with Tom, and the more information, the better.

“Wyatt.” Chief Sanderson stands next to his bench, and Ben perks up from his phone and his quick replying. “Thank you again, for the tip. We think we’re going to keep Brendanawicz for a bit. He has some stories to tell us.”

Ben feels like he can breathe, just a little. “Does this mean I can go?”

“Yes, but we will be keeping in touch, you understand? This is an ongoing investigation, and we’re still low on answers. That being said, if you find out anything else, you come to me, okay?”

“I will,” Ben lies, crossing his fingers behind his back.

“Good.” The Chief claps Ben on the shoulder, harder than usual, and Ben flinches, nearly dropping his phone. “You got a ride out of here?”

“Um, yeah.” He fumbles with his phone, checks the screen to see a couple more new texts. “My friend Andy is actually already outside waiting for me.”

So he leaves, Chief Sanderson nodding after him, practically running for Andy's car. April is in the front seat, her legs kicked up on the dashboard, obnoxiously chewing a piece of gum. She peers at him as soon as he climbs into the back.

“So you didn't, like, murder Leslie?”

“What?” Ben gapes, as both Andy and April stare at him, waiting for a response. “Good lord,  _ no,  _ don't— don't even say that. What's wrong with you?”

April shrugs. “You're the one who got locked up.”

_ “She's not dead.” _

“Well,” she smacks her gum, “she could be. The first forty-eight hours of a person's disappearance are the most vital, and the longer it goes without finding her, the less likely she is to be found. There's a chance she's already dead.”

Ben grips the seat, taking a heaving breath.  _ Steady, steady.  _ April is just trying to mess with him. In the cruelest of ways, sure, but she's just messing with him. “Don't say that,” Ben snaps. “Don't you dare ever say that.”

“Sorry, bro,” Andy winces. “I think it's how she copes or something, isn't it so cute?” He looks at April with the biggest grin, giggling lightly as she reaches over to pat his face. 

_ “No,”  _ Ben says. “Do you know what  _ cute  _ means?”

They kiss, a little too passionately for Ben to be comfortable, and then Andy finally starts to drive, backing out of the police station. “Tom's place, right?” he asks. “He says you're holding some kinda party?”

“Not a party,” he explains, scrolling through his phone for his texts. Tom lets him know he's all set up, and to come through the side door to the backyard when they get there. “God, he better not think this is a party. No, I'm investigating.”

“Because cops suck?” April asks, playing with her shoelace. “I knew it.” 

“Exactly,” Ben grumbles. “And if they're not gonna get this right, then I sure as hell am.”

April turns her head back around to stare at him, her eyes narrowing just slightly. It's the kind of look that makes Ben uncomfortable, like he's being carefully scrutinized, and he's unsure if there will ever be a day where he's no longer afraid of April. “I thought you didn't like Leslie.”

Ben sighs. “It's complicated.”

They're quiet for the rest of the way, pulling into Tom’s driveway, taking note of the cars that have already lined themselves down the streets.  _ Good.  _ Everyone should be here. “Jesus, Ben, how many people did you invite?” April asks, but he doesn't answer, just pushes past them until he reaches Tom’s backyard. He's met to a barrage of voices.

Everyone talks at once, either standing or sitting in lawn chairs around Tom’s patio. Tom and Jean-Ralphio are somehow squeezed into the same lawn chair, while Ann has opted to sit directly on Jen’s lap, her arms curling around her girlfriend’s neck. Donna stands with her arms crossed as Andy and April go to join her, and Ben just waits until the noise dies down.

“What the hell am I doing here?” Donna asks.

Jean-Ralphio pretends to grind on Tom. “Is this a party? You know I  _ love  _ a good last minute party, where's the music?”

“You want to involve everyone?” Ann says, quieter than the others, when Ben passes her. “I mean, I'm assuming this about her, right?”

“It is,” Ben says, and even though he doesn't even say it loudly, everyone quiets to hear him, eyes training on him. “Um, hi,” he greets them, suddenly feeling a little awkward. “Okay, listen, I'm sure you all have questions—”

“Uh,  _ yeah,”  _ Donna interrupts. “Like, weren't you just  _ arrested  _ for having something to do with Leslie’s case?”

“Oh please,” Jen snorts. “Seriously, take one good look at him and tell me if you think he's capable of hurting anyone.”

Ben’s head spins, and he grabs his hair in frustration. “I didn't— I was not  _ arrested.  _ I was taken in for questioning.”

“As if that's any better.”

“It is! I mean, it was hell, but basically because Leslie and I were rivals for so long, they thought I might've had something to do with it. But I gave them a better lead— Mark Brendanawicz— and they let me go. I just got back.”

“So what the hell are we doing here?” Donna asks.

“I need help,” he says, deciding to go for complete honesty. This is never going to get anywhere if he hides away everything he’s thinking and sits in his room all day crying. No, he has to work with people. He has to think a little more like Leslie Knope. He has to  _ find his team.  _ “The Pawnee police are… useless. They took me to the high school for investigation and left me in a cell all night.”

Donna gapes. “Is that even legal?”

“Honestly, I don't think so!” Ben’s voice rises, and he feels the stress building in the form of a cluster headache. “I don't think they're doing much for finding Leslie. I really don't think they know anything at all. And if it keeps going on like this, she’ll never be found. No, we have to do this.  _ I need to find her.” _

There's a small bit of silence, everyone exchanging glances, and then Ann slowly stands from Jen’s lap. Making her way over to him. She smiles, just slightly, and Ben relaxes. “Ben,” she says, and it's low enough that it's clear it's just for him. “We will find her. Okay?”

He hadn't even realized he was shaking. He takes a deep breath, wipes his palms on his jeans. “I'm okay.”

“Are you?”

_ “Yes.  _ I just… I just think we really need to work on this. You said it yourself, we will find her.”

Ben doesn't know why Ann chooses now to be so nice to him, so understanding. It's foreign, it's wrong, and he doesn't know how to react to it. But there's something different in her eyes when she looks at him, now, something that was never really there before, as if she's seeing him in a new light. As if she knows something she didn't before.

Ann is looking out for him.

It's the first time he can actually see himself becoming friends with Ann Perkins.

As Ben is taking a deep breath and trying to reign himself back in, Ann steps up, takes a look around. “He's right,” she says, her voice stronger. “We need to find her. So Ben and I are going to lead on that front. I guess… the first thing we need to do is ask questions, right?” She looks to Ben for confirmation, and he nods. “Um, so, graduation day. What do we know already?”

“We know she never showed up,” Jen supplies. “Not just for the ceremony, but she wasn't at our last Student Council meeting, either.”

“Swanson said he sent her home,” Tom adds, a hand on Jean-Ralphio to keep him in line. “Said she was freaking out over her speech, so he told her to go home.”

“Freaking out about her speech does  _ sound  _ like Leslie,” April says, her arms crossed. “So at least that checks out.”

“Well, yes,” Ann says. “But would she really go home? I mean, knowing her, I don't know if she would listen to Mr. Swanson. She'd probably go to her car and sit in the parking lot, or wait in the halls.”

“You're right,” Ben sighs, a hand over his face. “I can't see her choosing the go home on  _ graduation day,  _ no matter what Swanson tells her.”

“So, I guess the first question is really… when did everyone last see Leslie?”

Everyone looks at each other again, shifting in their seats as they think. It's as if everyone is too afraid to say, like it might give them away somehow, expose them for something they either did or didn't do. But despite it all, despite the pain that comes with it, and the mystery surrounding Leslie’s disappearance, Ben is not quite so jaded as he should be. These people, he trusts them. He knows, somehow, that none of them are responsible. And maybe that's just remnants of Leslie rubbing off on him, but he believes it. He knows it to be true.

Jen clears her throat, volunteering to be the first to speak up. “I talked to her in the morning,” she says. “Before school. She was asking me a million questions about her speech, I told her I didn't care. That she would be fine.”

Ann smiles softly at her girlfriend, nodding her encouragement. “And I was with her at lunch. I didn't see her again after that. What about you, Tom?”

“I think it was the hallway,” he says, and he looks at Jean-Ralphio for confirmation. “Before lunch. We were walking to class and she said hi to us.”

“I saw her in the halls too,” Andy adds, and he leans forward in his seat like an overeager puppy, clinging tightly to April before she falls over. “I don't remember what time. Or between what classes. But I'm pretty sure it was in the morning because she was carrying coffee.”

“Yeah, it was in the morning,” April confirms. “She had black coffee, which was weird. No cream, no sugar.”

Just the thought of that makes Ben’s stomach drop. “Are you sure? Was she acting weird?”

April shrugs. “She just seemed tired. I thought it had something to do with the graduation speech. Or  _ last day of school  _ sadness.”

“She was off when I saw her too,” Donna adds. “Fifth period. She didn't even raise her hand  _ once.” _

Ben grips his stomach, and beside him, Ann’s face is twisting up, taking a deep and heaving breath. “Oh god,” Ann cries. “So she was acting weird all day. Oh god. She was when I saw her at lunch, too, but I also thought it was just… I thought she was sad school was ending, because she was so nervous about losing everyone when we went off to college… And Ben, when you saw her—”

“Yeah,” he sighs, grabbing a fistful of his own shirt. “Yeah, she was kind of a mess. I… I'm pretty sure I was the very last person to see her before she disappeared.”

“Okay,” Jen starts, and she stands to wrap an arm around an already panicking Ann, trying desperately to get her to calm down. “Okay. So we know she was acting really strange on her last day. Sad, or stressed. She wasn't drinking her usual drink, she was slightly panicky, didn't talk in class, and..?” She looks to Ben.

“She was… more uptight,” he explains. “I mean, snappier than usual. It probably doesn't mean much, because we’ve always been rivals, but it's just that…” Ben takes a deep breath, looking down at the floor. “We were getting… better. And then on graduation day, it got worse all at once. I was bitter, she yelled at me, I deserved it, she left.”

“We need to keep this between ourselves,” Ann says, looking up from Jen with red eyes. “Okay? What we talk about here needs to stay here for the meantime, until we have enough information and we can figure out what to do.”

“Agreed,” Ben says, and the others nod. “Leslie Knope Recovery Task—”

_ “HEY, WYATT!” _

The shout comes from the other side of the fence, but the voice is undeniable. Everyone sits up or stands at attention as he makes his way in, pushing open Tom’s fence door to his backyard. And Ben would be more concerned, but  _ of course  _ this is happening. Of course Mark Brendanawicz would know where to find him.  _ Tom’s house has always been the party house. _

“Dude, what are you doing, breaking into my backyard?” Tom hisses, but it comes out more like a whine, everyone standing to meet Mark as he comes in, fists at his side, face red. He completely ignores Tom.

“Hey, Wyatt, thought it was funny to get the police on me, do you?”

Ben swallows hard, faces Mark head on. Mark is so much taller than him, Ben has to strain a little to look up into his eyes. “What are you doing here?”

“Came to pick a bone with you, asshole—”

“You're supposed to be at the police station.”

“They let me out. Are you kidding me? The cops here are useless, I just sweet talked them a little and came up with a couple lies and they let me out right away.”

“Oh my god,” Ben groans, taking a step back from Mark. “Oh my god. Oh god, did you—”

Mark shoves Ben— not hard enough to hurt, but enough that he stumbles, nearly tripping on the patio.  _ “No.  _ I didn't do jack  _ shit  _ to Leslie, never anything. I never even touched that bitch after we broke up—”

“Don't call her that,” Ben snaps, and he has a serious sense of deja vu. “Don't fucking call her that.”

“Seriously, Wyatt? No, seriously? You're clearly trying to cover your own ass—”

“I didn't do anything to her—”

“Oh, really?” Mark gets this look on his face, some kind of smile that scares Ben, and makes him second guess everything. And he knows whatever kind of memory Mark brings up is about to hurt way more than a shove. “Because I  _ know  _ you had a creepy little crush on her for years, Wyatt. You probably kidnapped her and kept her in your basement just to stare at.”

Ben’s face burns bright red, inching farther away again. “I didn't— I didn't have a crush on her. I didn't—”

“Don't lie to me. Don't lie to everyone here. I saw the way you looked at her. Saw the way you acted around her, you can't hide your creepy crush forever.” Mark glared, clenched his fists, and Ben swore he could faint. “It was really bad at parties. Especially that  _ one party.” _

***

**JUNIOR YEAR**

“Spin the bottle, Tom, hurry up!”

“If this doesn't land on Jean-Ralphio, I'm going to be very upset,” Tom warned, leaning forward to grip the bottle, spinning it gently. It swung around the circle, everyone waiting with bated breath, nervous giggles, looking back and forth at each other and Tom. And when the bottle finally stopped, pointing directly in Jean-Ralphio’s direction, there was an immediate gasp of relief.

“Damn right,” Jean-Ralphio laughed, and he grabbed Tom by the front of his shirt, tugging him in and planting a kiss on his lips, one that  _ definitely  _ felt a little too uncomfortable for the crowd.

Ben looked away, staring down at the carpet he sat cross-legged on in Tom’s living room. It was the best part of the night, the golden hour of all Tom’s parties— deep into the night when most people were passed out or had already left, leaving just a dozen red-faced and tipsy kids left, clutching the remaining beers in their hands. Ben was used to being part of this crowd. It was always at  _ least  _ Ben, Tom and Jean-Ralphio, and Andy and April. But this night was different, because this night there were more than a couple guests Ben felt a little uncomfortable about. 

Mark Brendanawicz spun the bottle and shared a very quick and chaste kiss with Ann Perkins, both of them looking particularly offended when they came away. There was absolutely still bad blood there, with Mark as Leslie’s ex, and it was well known that Ann would rather gag than kiss a man.

“God,” Ann mumbled, going back to sit next to Leslie, who pet her reassuringly. “Who's turn is it next? April?”

Ben looked around for April, but she seemed to have completely escaped the circle, having snuck away with Andy on to the couch. The two were very passionately intertwined— practically grinding on each other, actually, and no amount of calling either of their names would wake them from their drunken, lustful stupor. Ann sighed.

“Fine. We’ll skip April. Um… how about you spin this time, Jen?” Ann looked very pointedly at Jen Barkley, a faint blush on her cheeks, and Ben could tell instantly what kind of game Ann was playing here. The two had been awkwardly flirty for  _ weeks,  _ Ben having to hear the worst of it from Jen in Student Council meetings. _Clueless_ _ lesbian,  _ Jen would curse, after another failed attempt at getting Ann to see she was interested,  _ Do I just have to grab her and kiss her already? _

“I'll go,” Jen replied, and she kept Ann’s stare, the tension between the two girls palpable as Jen leaned forward to seize the bottle and spin. They only looked away from each other to watch the bottle as it moved, and Ben once again felt that awkward anxiousness everytime it passed him, worried it would stop at him, and he clutched his beer bottle tighter. Not that kissing Jen would be the worst thing in the world… but there weren't many people here he would feel particularly great about kissing unless he was much drunker than this.

He took a long drink from his beer.

When the bottle stopped moving, it didn't land on Ann, but very close to her. There was a tiny stifled gasp as they all realized the bottle landed directly in front of Leslie, and then it was all laughter, both girls looking at each other with sheepish grins.

Jen’s eyes zeroed in on Ann, who was looking red in the face, before she crawled over to them both, stopping right in front of Leslie. “Better give me some fire, Knope,” she said with a little smirk, before tilting Leslie’s chin up with her finger and pressing the softest of kisses to her lips.

Ben fidgeted. Cleared his throat. Looked away again.

Ann was doing the same.

Despite Jen asking for fire, the kiss was actually relatively sweet, and  _ just  _ long enough that it was clear Jen was using it to make Ann very jealous. When she pulled away, both girls were grinning gently, Leslie biting down on her bottom lip, and Ben tried to focus anywhere else.

Tom opened his mouth to announce who was next, but Ann immediately grabbed the bottle, shutting him up instantly. “My turn,” she declared, sounding rushing, her hands shaking so badly that the bottle nearly slipped completely from her fingers. “I'll go next.” She spun the bottle almost violently, and it didn't stop for a long time, until finally it rested right at Leslie,  _ again,  _ and both girls exploded into laughter.

“Thank god,” Ann giggled. “I did  _ not  _ want another man.”

“Too easy for you,” Leslie teased her, edging closer to her best friend. “Nothing that hasn't happened before.”

And it's that thought that made Ben choke as Leslie and Ann clung to each other, connecting at the lips and making out with a passion rivaling even Tom and Jean-Ralphio’s kiss. Everyone in the circle bursts into gasps, actually, talking over each other as Leslie and Ann continued, and Ben felt the need all over again to look away, trying to think about anything  _ but  _ kissing Leslie Knope.

He didn't even want her here, for god's sake. She had never stayed  _ this  _ late at one of Tom’s parties, never long enough to get to spin the bottle. And they had very pointedly ignored each other all night, pretending the other didn't exist, and Ben was more than okay with that. She was still angry at him for beating her to Student Council Vice President, and Ben was taking her silent treatment as a personal victory—  _ Knope versus Wyatt, round three  _ seemed to be leaning in his favor this year.

Mark rolled his eyes as Leslie and Ann finally disconnected, Ann quickly glancing over in Jen’s direction to see how she was reacting. “Wow, Les,” Mark muttered, not without a heavy dose of  _ bitter ex-boyfriend  _ attitude. “That's a lot of girls you're kissing for someone who's straight.”

Leslie flipped her hair over her shoulder, grinning widely at Mark. “Who said anything about me being exclusively into men?”

There was another loud outbreak of voices and giggles, with Leslie and Ann whispering to each other, some of the guys with bulging eyes. And Ben still just sat there, picking at the carpet with his fingers, debating whether to get up and go get another beer. He felt like he would need one, if he had to see people make out with Leslie all night. Not that he was jealous, like Andy and Tom would call him. No, it was just  _ annoying,  _ definitely.

“It's not the first time we’ve kissed, for the record,” Ann giggled, her eyes still flickering over to Jen to gauge her reaction. “If you can't drunkenly make out with your best friend then are you really best friends?”

Mark rolled his eyes again as the group collapsed into tipsy laughter, rolling over onto the floor and clutching onto each other. Even Ben laughed, a little, because just the idea of making out with Andy or Tom was ridiculous to him, even though he  _ was  _ bisexual. They were his best friends, goddammit, the thought of kissing them just sounded like the funniest elaborate bit in his drunken state.

But there were worse people to kiss, he soon realized. 

“How about you spin the bottle this time, Les?” Tom suggested from Jean-Ralphio’s lap, trying to keep his fit of giggles to himself. “I wanna see what happens.”

“Girl, you are getting  _ all  _ the action tonight,” Jean-Ralphio shouted. Leslie grinned, shrugging.

“Sure,” she said, leaning forward to reach for the bottle. “But it better be good, I’ve had a lucky streak so far.”

As Leslie’s bottle spun around the circle, Ben felt his chest tighten, and his throat felt dry, prompting him to quickly drink the rest of his beer. He was shaking, he realized, as he watched the bottle spin, anxious every time it passed him. He always was, of course, but there was something different about now. Something different about sitting here in the circle of potentials for his rival to kiss, and—  _ oh god,  _ what the hell was Ben even doing here? He should've left the moment Leslie decided to stay, but  _ god, she just…  _ She hadn't even spoken to him in a week, not even in passing, as if he didn't exist at all, and she was wearing a low cut red dress that absolutely hugged her in all the right places, and her face was flushed and her lips swollen from the kisses, and—

_ Shut up, Ben, shut up.  _

He crossed his fingers behind his back and prayed to any God above that the bottle wouldn't land on him. And he prayed that when it was his turn to spin, it wouldn't land on her either, and they could avoid the awkward confrontation that would come from refusing to kiss the other. He was certain that's exactly how it would go, after all, because what else could happen? No, she would take one look at him and blatantly refuse, and it would turn into another fight at the  _ one  _ place Ben was supposed to be free from fighting with her. It was a party, dammit, and he wanted his peace.

Leslie’s bottle slowed to a stop right in front of Ben.

He didn't even register it, at first, staring blankly ahead, but the room went eerily silent. Everyone looked back and forth between Ben and Leslie, as if expecting the room to explode in any minute. And that's when Ben realized.

He choked, staring at the bottle pointed directly at him— it was unmistakable. “Good lord,” he mumbled, slowly looking up. Everyone was looking at him.  _ Leslie was looking at him.  _ “Oh— um… we don't…” he explained awkwardly, unable to read the emotions in her eyes. “We don't have to—”

“Why not?” she asked, the first thing she said to him in a week. The thought made a chill run down his spine. “Are you scared, Wyatt?”

_ Oh god, was she actually suggesting—? _

“I— what?” It seemed easy retorts were not going to be his strong suit today. “You actually want to…”

“It's just a kiss,” Leslie shrugged, and a wicked smile crept onto her lips. “It's just a game. So, are you scared?”

He hated the way she repeated the question, as if mocking him, and all Ben could think was that he didn't expect  _ this  _ in the slightest. No, this felt strange, like a completely different world, because in what universe would  _ Leslie Knope  _ ever be okay with kissing him? She absolutely hated him with everything in her, so much so that she would rather pretend he didn't exist.  _ And Ben couldn't kiss his biggest rival.  _ Even if it was a game.

“I'm not scared,” he found himself saying, and he didn't remember deciding to say the words. “A kiss doesn't mean anything.”

“Exactly,” she grinned, and she leaned over to crawl towards him, Ben swallowing hard as he fought not to look down the front of her dress.  _ Oh god, this was bad. This was very bad.  _ “And I've never kissed an  _ enemy  _ before. Maybe it feels different.”

“Maybe,” he gulped, and they both got on their knees, facing each other, Ben still taller, looking down on her. Her eyes glinted with alcohol and mischief. “Listen,” he said, suddenly more serious, and his voice dropped down so only she could hear him. “Leslie, we  _ really  _ don't have to do this if you don't—”

His words were muffled by the sudden feeling of her lips on his, stuck in his throat, caught by complete surprise. Leslie’s hands gripped both sides of his face, pulling him in, and it took Ben a moment to actively recognize that she was kissing him,  _ actually kissing him,  _ and he was sitting there dumbfounded like some kind of idiot.

Oh god, her lips were soft.

As if driven by some outside source, some magical influence that put him under a spell, Ben could no longer think, just act. His hands shot up to cup her face, pulling her in, and his lips parted with hers, deepening the kiss further. There was a low groan in his throat, barely concealed, as her fingers slipped into Ben’s hair, tugging just gently, firmly pressing her chest to his. He shuddered, shoving his tongue into her mouth, an arm slinging around her waist until they were pulled flush together, his fingers spreading out to feel the curve of her back, of her hip, the fabric of her dress and thinking about  _ nothing  _ except how he really wanted to pull it up. She tasted like whipped cream vodka and it was so purely  _ her  _ that he swore he got drunk off the taste of her, committing it to his memory, pushing to get more.

She gasped against his lips when bit at her bottom lip, sucking on it just so, and it was then that the spell was broken. They came apart gradually, first with their hands, then their chests, and lastly their lips, looking each other in the eyes with great, heaving breaths before awkwardly looking away from each other. Both of them seemed to forget they were in public, at a party. Both of them seemed to forget that they were rivals, that they were Ben Wyatt and Leslie Knope.

For a moment, the briefest of moments, they were just Ben and Leslie. Versions of themselves that might've existed in another time, but will never exist here. Not even after that kiss.

But god, her lips were soft.

Suddenly Ben felt a hell of a lot more sober.

“It's just a kiss,” Leslie said, but it was without the same vigor she had just moments ago. “Just a game.”

_ Just a game,  _ but the kiss lingered with him for far longer than he would ever care to admit. He felt it all through the night, and in his sleep, and waking up the next morning. He pressed his hand to his lips as he went back home, as he stared himself in the mirror, as he cursed himself for thinking it about Leslie, because he was supposed to hate her,  _ goddammit. _

And maybe there were more than just a couple cold showers.

***

**PRESENT DAY**

Mark just stares at Ben, watches the recognition in his eyes, and it occurs to Ben that he never expected anyone to remember that night as clearly as he does. Not even Leslie.

But of course Mark does.  _ Of course. _

Ben swallows hard, shaking his head, and suddenly he's angry. Angry that Mark thinks he can walk into Tom’s house and shove him around, angry that he bragged about getting away from the police so easily, angry that he could call Leslie a bitch even when she's missing, even when death is a very possible explanation.

Mark doesn't get to have any claim on Leslie. Mark doesn't get to have any say in this. He shouldn't even get to be here.

“You don't know anything,” Ben hisses, fists clenching, jaw set and eyes hard. “Nothing, about me or about Leslie.”

“I think I know more about Leslie that you do—”

“Really?” Ben questions, raising a brow. “When she wants to get drunk, what does she drink?”

Mark peers at Ben, as if trying to decide if this is a prank or not, before awkwardly answering, “Hard lemonade. Because it's sweet and easy to chug.”

“Whipped cream vodka,” Ben gasps, and it's all he can do to keep breathing, he feels like. And there's no way to even prove he's right, but Ben remembers. He bites down on his bottom lip and he remembers the taste of her as clearly as if it were yesterday. “Just get out, Brendanawicz. Just go.”

“You're just proving my point, at the end of the day,” Mark yells, as Ben turns around, ending the conversation so he can find a seat. Andy and April both stand to push Mark away, attempting to lead him towards the exit. “You're fucking  _ obsessed,  _ Wyatt, you always have been.”

“Dude, just shut up,” April groans, shoving Mark’s shoulder. “Nobody wants you here.”

“Seriously dude, get out,” Andy adds, and Ben can tell he's got his serious  _ Burt Macklin  _ voice activated. “This isn't your house.”

To Mark's credit, he starts to walk out, but it's not without his fair share of expletives. “Don't think I didn't notice, Wyatt,” he calls out just as Andy and April push him to the fence. “You might have all these guys fooled, but not me. Not the rest of the high school. Fucking  _ ass—” _

The fence door slams shut, and Ben can hear Mark swear, kicking the bushes as he walks away. Ben sinks further into his lawn chair, closing his eyes against the summer heat.

“So,” Ann whispers, her voice breaking. “What do we do know?”

Ben sighs, puts his head in his hands. “I've honestly got no clue.”


	9. Chapter 9

**PRESENT DAY, LOCATION UNKNOWN**

_ She can't breathe. _

There's darkness all around her and she can't even see her hand in front of her face, doesn't even know if she's holding up her hand in the first place. She's numb. There's no feeling in her body. There's just darkness and the cold and the overwhelming feeling that  _ she can't breathe. _

Life doesn't come back to Leslie all at once. Actually, if she was told right now that she’s dead, she would believe it. She  _ feels  _ dead. She feels empty. She feels so abandoned and it's all she can do to try and think, think,  _ think—  _ try to remember what got her here in the first place.

Memories and colors flash through her mind and it's the only light she can see. Images of Pawnee High School, the feeling of panic coursing through her body. Her feet hit the ground and she's running, breathing, gasping, trying not to cry. Every step towards the door is another dangerous one, closer and closer to the end of the line, and she keeps looking over her shoulder. Looking side to side. Up, and down. Through the windows in the classroom doors.

She sees empty hallways and the behind the scenes, excited chatter of students ready to graduate. Her speech is crumpled in her fist and shoved into her pocket, all but forgotten, no longer a priority. It's time to go. She'll worry about her speech later.

She feels fear, deep in her bones, shaking her to her very core. It is terror, plain and simple, the kind reserved for horror movies and crime scenes, nothing that was ever supposed to happen to her. It's the kind of fear that keeps her moving even when she desperately wants to stop, that carries her legs farther than she ever thought they could. And all she knows is there's no time for distraction, she just needs to  _ go, go, go. _

Leslie sees Ben.

_ Ben,  _ who's grumbling down the hallway with his hair mussed up.  _ Ben,  _ who shoves his hands in his pockets and purses his lips and tries and fails to act casual and nonchalant.  _ Ben,  _ who would smile at her and breathe that gentle sigh of relief when she smiled back, who would take tiny steps closer to her, who would look at her more deeply than anyone ever had before.  _ Ben.  _ Ben, who's been bitter. Who's been a little bit broken. Who's been pretending they're nothing more than rivals again, and Leslie is unsure how much more of this she can take.

She's been willing to put this whole thing away for a long time now. She wishes she knew how.

But they run into each other and even  _ her  _ automatic response is anger. She has no time for this, and now her binders and her sanity are scattered across the floor, Ben awkwardly asking for help above her.

It's tense. It's awkward. It's hot and cold and back and forth and it's not  _ right.  _ But she's screaming at him and he's calling her an ass and maybe she's acting this way because it's where she's most comfortable. Maybe because this has always been the routine, and she needs familiarity now more than ever. She can't tell him anything, can't explain to him what's going on, so she opts for anger. Frustration. Bitterness.

He feeds into her. He explodes just as easily as she does, when fueled. He always does.

And Leslie kind of just wants to  _ cry  _ and tell Ben she's sorry, she's sorry for right now and for yesterday and for last week and for the last four years. She's sorry for every mean comment, everytime they made each other cry, every moment that made their lives hell. Because while he might still be existing in his simple world of rivalry, to Leslie, all those things look minuscule now. They look like nothing, tiny arguments that only hurt them, that produced no winners and two losers. It's all slipping away from her and she just wants to say  _ sorry  _ before it's too late, before her world changes for better or worse, before she gets hurt and she can't work her way back out of this pit she's fallen into.

But instead she snaps at him, pulls her books away. She pointedly tells him to refer to her by her  _ last name,  _ because first names feel too personal now. If her first name comes out from his lips one more time she might just break, and she can't afford to break right now. So she calls him  _ Wyatt,  _ calls him mean, a jerk, every insult under the sun. And looking down on herself, on this little memory from graduation day, she can clearly see herself fall apart. The shaking of her voice and her hands, how her hair is knotted and tangling, her face red and sweat breaking out across her brow. There are bags under her eyes and the louder she yells at Ben, the harder the tears threaten to come, overwhelming her, consuming her until there's nothing left of the old Leslie Knope.

And Ben is the only one to notice that day. Everyone assumes it's because school is ending, or graduation nerves. But Ben looks at her and he sees something that no one else does. He reaches for her. She's scared of his touch. His brow furrows and there's real concern in his eyes, a touch of affection that makes her choke up and want to scream even louder. But a classroom door opens and Leslie  _ jumps,  _ broken out of her reverie, reminded of the task at hand. There's no time to get distracted by Ben’s gentle hands and soft eyes.

She just has to  _ go. _

She is a flurry of color and tangled hair and bright binders as she hurries down the hall, leaving Ben behind her. She doesn't even consider if this will be the last time she sees him, because she doesn't know the danger coming her way, not quite so deeply. She knows, somewhere in her brain, that she's running out of time. She recognizes vaguely that she has to get to her car for something,  _ something important,  _ and she has to do it before graduation. There's a ticking time bomb and it's putting pressure on her, propelling her forwards, the wind howling in her ears.

Check the windows. Check to the sides. Check ahead of her. Look behind her shoulder.

Wind, laughter, shouting, crashing. Whispers, pain, darkness,  _ gone. _

And it all leads back to now, in this pitch black, trying to find out how to regain feeling. It comes back to her slowly, agonizingly so, starting in her fingertips. She stretches then gently, curls them against her palms, just reveling in the feel of her own skin, no matter how rough and calloused it might be right now. Next is her cheek, and the sharp, cold feeling of a metal floor, freezing her brain to the point that her face feels burnt. When her arms come to life, she slowly becomes capable of pulling herself off the floor, gasping as she goes, noting just how weak she is, how shaky she is.

It's still too dark.

There are tiny dents and divots up her arms that she surveys, realizing they're cuts, some deeper than others. She runs her fingers along her wrists and finds the cool metal wrapped there, keeping her in place, digging into her skin and pinching until she can feel the slight warmth of her own blood. It's almost therapeutic, running it between her fingers, because it's the best way to remind herself that she's still alive. She's still human, she's still here, this is really happening. And if she's ever going to get out of this, she needs to be capable of staying in the present, staying inside her own head instead of slipping away.

Her eyes never adjust to the darkness, so she resorts to sitting cross legged on the floor and stretching her arms out, feeling around her for any signs of where she might be or how to escape. Her palms touch only the metal of the floor, the chain of her cuffs around her wrists, and nothing else. She grasps for her pockets and there's still nothing. Her phone is missing, her belongings are nowhere to be found. All that's left in her jean pockets are crumpled up pieces of paper, filled to capacity with tiny cramped handwriting, for a speech to end all speeches addressed to Pawnee High’s graduating class.

If it's all she has, she’ll hold onto it. She'll keep herself tethered to it.

But gripping that stupid piece of paper in her cut up palm, above anything else it just reminds her this is real. She's not home, she missed graduation, and she has no idea where she is. It's cold and dark and slightly damp and her entire body aches deeply, all the way to the bone, every limb a miracle to move, just breathing a nightmare to follow through with. Her lungs burn with every inhale and she shakes on the exhale, over and over until it becomes harsh, burning hot tears, the kind that surprise you by how quickly they come, but you can't force them to go away.

The ache in her body spikes in her heart, and this new pain is one of the more emotional kinds. She fights and resists the tears but they rip from her throat with a loud gasp, tipping her over, her knees to her chest as she screams into her lap. And as much as she wants to be strong, to keep her chin up and tell herself  _ she will get through this,  _ for once she can't find that power inside her. She's a light that's flickering out, so close to dying, too erratic to be of any use to anyone anymore. The world is just darkness and the sun won't come up, and she is lost, so lost, turning into something she doesn't recognize.

She can't do this.  _ She can't do this. _

For the briefest of moments she regrets everything that brought her here, everytime she stepped out of line. She regrets taking the fall and firing her shot and opening her mouth. She regrets keeping it all to herself, regrets letting herself explode, and she regrets leaving Ben that day,  _ when he asked her if she was okay,  _ when he gave her that tiny opening to let herself in, but she couldn't do it.  _ She couldn't fucking do it. _

Leslie curses herself for being Leslie Knope, and she wishes she were anyone else, anyone at all. She wishes she were back home, tucked into bed. She wants to grab her phone and goddammit, she wants  _ Ann,  _ sweet and beautiful Ann, who never did anything wrong. She wants to wrap Ann in a hug and hear her say that  _ everything is going to be alright, Leslie.  _ Everything is going to be okay. She’ll tell her that every thirty seconds until she can calm down, until her breathing is even and she finally starts to fall asleep. Leslie tries to picture this now, closing her eyes tight and picturing bangs and skirts and warm smiles, the kind of reassurance only a best friend can give.

But it's just cold. Any image of Ann is swept away into the abyss and Leslie is still lonely.

She wants Ann, but something even harder strikes her in the gut, and Leslie cries out for her  _ mother.  _ Her mother, of all people, when she doesn't remember the last time she hugged her, or even told her she was proud. Marlene, who is known for being severe and hardworking and ambitious and has never once been to any of Leslie’s events, who never even planned on going to her graduation, because she doesn't have a single warm, motherly bone in her body.

But Leslie cries for her mother.

She thinks about running to her mother, Marlene’s fingers brushing deftly through her hair, the tickle of her nails at her scalp. She would hold her daughter tightly as she cries, rubbing up her arm and up her back, whispering  _ shhh  _ into her ear.  _ Shhh, pumpkin, it’ll be alright. I'm here, I'm here.  _

_ “Mommy?” Leslie whispers, nothing more than a tiny whine from deep within her most vulnerable and desperate thoughts. “I'm scared.” _

_ Marlene kisses the top of her head, brushes tiny blonde baby hairs from her forehead. “That's okay, baby. It's okay to be scared. It's okay to cry, sometimes. You don't have to be strong all the time.” _

_ “But a Knope is always supposed to put on a brave face.” _

_ She laughs, a carefree sound that lessens the tightness in Leslie's chest. “Not always. Sometimes the bravest thing you can do is let yourself be broken.” _

Leslie cries for a version of her mother that doesn't exist, and will never exist, trying to envision warmth and walks in the park and chocolate chip waffles to eat, wrapped in a homemade quilt. Having her mother tuck her into bed, sending Ann a text that she loves her, calling Ben deep into the night just to talk, just to hear him breathe.

_ It's not real, none of that is real.  _ And now even the possibility is nonexistent, that tiny rope she held onto most her life slipping away from her, leaving her grasping and reaching and mourning something that doesn't exist. She can't even see their faces, but that imaginary little ball of love sits in her heart, trying to keep her warm, until eventually that, too, will flicker out and die just like she will.

So she's done with crying. Leslie screams.

She screams for help, for answers, for  _ anything.  _ She begs, even, on her knees, until her throat is raw and her voice is hoarse. She screams as if she's dying, and she only has seconds left to live, her entire life depending on it. The sound echoes and it ricochets off the walls, into empty space, and she  _ knows,  _ somehow she just  _ knows  _ that she is somewhere that nobody can hear her.

Nobody but one.

A door opens somewhere, releasing a tiny sliver of light that blinds her instantly. Leslie throws her arm over her eyes, recoiling from the brightness, from the shadow, from the footsteps.

Someone speaks.

_ Leslie recognizes that voice. _


	10. Chapter 10

Time moves very slowly for Ben.

He spends most his days in his room, locked away, his parents absolutely insistent that he stay home as much as possible. And while normally he would brush this off and sneak out every night, now things are different. Now he has a harder time even leaving bed in the morning, rolling over and pulling his pillow to him and just trying  _ not  _ to think, trying not to panic.

He tries to be numb, because it's easier that way. 

Andy and Tom will stop by every so often, when Ben allows them to, but they never seem to know what to do. They try to talk to him, try to do anything at all, but it's like all they're capable of is sitting in Ben’s room, staring into nothing, picking at the carpet, starting and dropping conversation topics. They try to get Ben to eat, to listen to music, maybe just laugh a little, but when it gets too frustrating they sigh, end up waving after him, walking out the door and coming again in a couple days.

It's not that Ben is incapable of living. He just isn't trying.

Maybe it's the nightmares. Maybe it's because everytime he closes his eyes to fall asleep, he sees a flash of blonde hair and catches a whiff of something like whipped cream, and he's falling all over again. Her voice screams over his, begging him, pleading with him for something that he can't understand. He sees her mocking him, sees her crying, sees her bleeding, sees her dead. 

The latter always makes him jolt awake, a silent scream on his lips.

And she's not just in his nightmares, either. She's everywhere. Her face is on a poster on every street, splashed across the news on  _ Pawnee Today  _ and Perd Hapley’s show. Even  _ Crazy Ira and The Douche  _ make a segment for her, right after  _ Thought for Your Thoughts  _ with Derry Murbles does. Word is getting out around Pawnee, and it almost feels like there isn't a single soul who doesn't wonder where Leslie Knope went. And maybe that's why Ben is so homebound, lately— it's the closest he can get to escape.

Funnily enough, anytime spent outside his bedroom is now spent in the company of Ann Perkins. It starts just with text messages checking up on each other, if there's any news, if they're sleeping alright, if they've had any epiphanies. They end up turning to each other first, before almost anyone else, as if they're comforted by the fact that the other knew Leslie, connecting to each other through her.

When Ben’s parents are being particularly awful and his brain is in an especially bad place, he calls Ann, and now the two of them sit on the porch swing in his backyard, neither looking at the other. They swing just gently, rocking back and forth with their heels, staring at the floor or across the garden.

Ann’s hands rest in her lap, anxiously smoothing out her sundress. He catches the shaking of her palms, how her eyes struggle to stay open, how heavy her head looks. She's missing something, some kind of usual fire, and he's never seen her look quite so empty.

“You haven't been sleeping,” he says. It's a statement, not a question.

She doesn't even flinch. “Neither have you.”

Ben winces. “Are we that transparent?”

“At least I'm not pretending.”

She doesn't say it with any kind of menace, but it strikes Ben as a call out, a quip that she's been meaning to make for quite a while now. She doesn't even look at him as she says it, so deadpan, staring at her open palms.

“What do you think I'm pretending about?”

Ann tries to hide it, but Ben can see her nose scrunch up, her eyes start to water. She ducks her head lower, letting her hair cover her face from view. “It's just… it's just kind of funny, isn't it? How you hated her for four years… you couldn't even be friends. But, all of a sudden, now that she's missing—”

The shock of the statement slaps Ben, like ice cold water down his back. “Are you— are you accusing me pretending to care about her? You think I'm lying about… what, wanting to find her?”

“Maybe not.” She grips her sundress in her fists. “Not necessarily lying. But I kind of wonder if you're only so worried about her because she's missing.”

Ben chokes, the anger rising in him, but he forces it down. He takes deep breaths, rubbing at his brow, looking at Ann sideways. “You don't know the whole story,” he says. “Do you? I thought you might, because you and her were best friends—”

_ “Are  _ best friends. Present tense.”

“— but you don't know, do you? You don't know what our… relationship was like, or I'm not sure you would be saying that to me right now.”

He's not sure he wants to talk about it, all that he and Leslie went through— he doesn't think he can unpack it all now. But it surprises him, if Ann doesn't know, especially considering she's alluded to him in the past that she has an idea. His throat tightens.

Ann purses her lips, looks at him quickly. “I only ever heard her side of things. That's different.”

“And what was her side of the story?”

She shrugs and doesn't answer.

Ben looks back out at the garden, leaning forward on the porch swing to rest his elbows on his knees. “I didn't hate her,” he admits, his voice lowering. “Or, at least, I had a really hard time hating her. But this…  _ stupid  _ rivalry started and she kept pushing, and something about her made me want to keep pushing back. It got her attention, so why not? It's like it was the only way she would ever look at me, if I was pissing her off.”

“That's not a very good excuse, you know,” she grumbles, shaking her head. “You made her life hell for some attention.”

“And she didn't do the same with me?” He lets the statement linger in the air. “We both made mistakes. We were both so stupid, but once the rivalry started, it seemed impossible to stop. Even the… even the softer moments we did have, it didn't last. It was some huge, never ending cycle that was absolute hell for me, and I didn't know how to get out.”

“That still doesn't change the fact that you’re only acting like this because she's  _ missing.”  _ Ann refuses to hide her tears now, trailing softly down her cheeks as she shoots her head up, looking right at him. Her eyes burn a hole in his head. “If Leslie was still here right now, you would still be wrapped in that stupid rivalry, hating each other and making the other cry. It's  _ fake.” _

He starts to wonder if that's true. He imagines what would've happened if Leslie never left at all, if she did show up at graduation. She would've done her speech, and it would be amazing, but Ben would be bitter. They would part ways that night with a nod of their heads, strained and tense, incapable of even touching each other for fear of what it would mean.

But maybe they would've seen each other at the party that night. Maybe they would have talked. Maybe…

“Maybe you're right,” he says suddenly, dejected. “Maybe it would never end. And I don't think you realize just how regretful I am because of that. It took  _ this  _ much for me to realize what she meant to me, this much to really feel guilty about all those years. And I wish I could go back, I do.”

Ann sniffles, looks up at him with wide, cloudy eyes. “You do?”

Ben nods. “If I could take back all four years of rivalry, I would do it in a heartbeat. I would do anything to be able to take it all back and… and just be her  _ friend.  _ Maybe whatever happened to her could've been stopped. Maybe it could all be different today.”

“How could you have stopped it? We don't know what happened to her.”

“I don't know,” he sighs. “I really don't. I just… I can't help but feel responsible for it.”

“Are the police still in contact with you?”

“Not really.” They've been by his house a couple times, just to ask the same questions they've always asked, but it means nothing. Every time Ben asks them if they're doing enough, if they have any leads, why they let Mark Brendanawicz go, but there's never anything new. It's useless, and a waste of time. “And I haven't heard anything from Brendanawicz, either. I think he's laying low, everyone from the school is pretty pissed at him. That's what Tom and Andy told me, at least. They all think he did it.”

“Do you think he did it?” she asks, biting down on her bottom lip. It's a genuine question, as if she's unsure herself.

“God, I– I really don't know,” he admits. “Part of me wants to say he did it. But I think that's only because having a main suspect feels better than nothing. Makes me feel closer to the truth, like I'm actually doing something.”

“But he did say that she would regret breaking up with him.”

“So do  _ you  _ think he did it?”

Ann groans, holds her head in her hands.  _ “No.  _ I don't. I think he's an asshole, but I don't think he's capable of… oh god.” She covers her mouth then, her cheeks puffing up. She shakes her head over and over, another tear spilling down her face, before she releases herself with a gasp. “Ben,” she cries, the sobs making her whole body shake, “Ben. Do you think she's  _ dead?” _

And just the thought of it, just the single act of asking, makes the image come to mind, the one that's been haunting Ben's nightmares to the point that not even sleeping pills can save him. He sees her, every goddamn time he closes his eyes. He sees her lying on the floor, eyes closed as if she's sleeping, but there's no rise and fall of her chest. She's still, so goddamn still, but he can't tell what's wrong with her until he gets closer. She's clean until he's on his knees next to her, and that's when the blood comes, pouring out of her. And every night he grabs for her, shakes her shoulders, presses his ear to her heart, begs her to wake up, begs her not to do this to him, not to leave him forever. And every night he jolts awake with the feeling of blood still lingering on his palms, running to the bathroom to scrub it away when it doesn't even exist.

His stomach churns, and he feels like he might be sick. “Don't say that,” he begs of Ann. “Please, please never say that.”

“Ben,” she chokes. “Ben, face the facts. We haven't seen her in two weeks. Every minute it gets worse and worse, harder to find her—”

“Have you been talking to April? Don't listen to April—”

“— and there's absolutely no leads. The closest we got was Mark and he's really just an asshole at the end of the day, I think we both know that. Nobody knows  _ anything,  _ the cops are lazy bastards who can't do their own damn job, and  _ nothing is happening anymore.  _ What if… what if she is?”

Ben holds a hand over his mouth as if to keep the sickness inside him, stilling the rocking of the porch swing so as not to upset his stomach. Suddenly it's far too bright outside, much too peaceful. The world without Leslie ought to be cold and grey. 

“She's not,” he insists, clenching his jaw. “I just… I just know it. If she dies, I'll just know it.”

Ann sets her jaw as she stares at him, her eyes turning steely and cold. “I don't know if you know anything, Wyatt.”

He doesn't quite know how to respond to that, so he doesn't. He doesn't want to humor Ann’s negative thoughts, not when they'll only make the both of them feel worse. He has enough dark images of his own to dip into Ann's as well. So they stay silent, rocking gently on the porch swing again, uncaring as the summer heat picks up and beats down on them, making them sweat, making their throats dry. They don't move at all, just staring at the grass or the garden. But unlike before, it's no longer peaceful.

A chime sounds, signaling to Ben that he has a text, and he almost doesn't want to get it. It's just Tom or Andy, trying to get him to come out again, but he doesn't think he can do it, not now, not when everytime he closes his eyes he sees blonde hair flecked with blood.

Sure enough, the text is from Tom.

_ 'Dude, you need to get over here, right now.’ _

Ben sighs and has every intention of ignoring it, but Tom has already texted again.

_ ‘Shauna’s back, dude. Shauna Malwae-Tweep. Her house is across the street from mine and I swear I just saw her.’ _

Ben doesn't know why, but this makes him freeze, the hand holding his phone seemingly going numb. It should be nothing. It should absolutely be nothing, because why wouldn't Shauna Malwae-Tweep be here? She has every reason to be in her own house.

“Shauna’s back,” he breathes, and Ann whips her head around.

“Shauna? The one who dropped out a month before graduation? Your ex-girlfriend?”

“The very same,” he mumbles, swallowing hard. “No one had been in contact with her since she dropped out.”

“Yeah, I heard a rumor she moved away. Some people thought she got married or got pregnant or something.”

“Ann.” Ben’s fingers trembled on his phone, Tom’s texts waiting unanswered. “Isn't that a little weird? That she dropped out and had no contact with  _ anyone?  _ No one has even seen her outside her house? What if this is the  _ something  _ that we've been waiting to happen?”

She bites her lip, looking entirely unconvinced. “You think Shauna has something to do with it? Or you think she knows something? Honestly, Ben, she's been gone a month. She probably doesn't even know Leslie is missing.”

“Then I'll tell her.” He stands up off the porch swing, letting it rock with his absence, shoving his phone in his pocket. “I'm gonna go meet up with Tom. It might be nothing, but… but I need to feel like I'm doing something. Anything is worth a shot.”

***

**SOPHOMORE YEAR**

Shauna was pretty.

Ben liked to hold her hand as he walked down the hallways, and he especially liked to press her up against his locker and kiss her between classes. Her hair was dark and curling underneath his fingers and when she looked up and smiled at him, he traced over her dimples.

But more than that, Ben  _ really  _ liked the way dating Shauna seemed to piss Leslie off.

Her locker was still right next to his— maybe that's why he always chose that spot to make out with Shauna. He would press his lips to hers and very pointedly pretend he didn't notice Leslie tapping her feet behind them, fists clenching, shouting at him until he eventually broke free.

“Oh, hey, Knope,” he would say nonchalantly, Shauna’s lipstick on his face. “Didn't see you there.”

Her face would scrunch up, she’d maybe call him a name or two, and then shove him out of the way to get to her locker, shooting Shauna a death glare in the process. She was  _ bitter,  _ and Ben didn't exactly understand why, but he very much lived to piss her off. So it was worth it, to make her late for class just by kissing Shauna.

It was a new, fresh relationship. Only about two weeks, but that didn't stop him from having his hands on Shauna any time he could. She was  _ hot,  _ after all, so he had no reason not to be happy. She wasn't all that great with conversation, and was a little empty-headed, but it was fine. He was okay with talking to her about absolutely nothing.

Which is what he was doing, texting under his desk that day during a Student Council meeting. Leslie was speaking to the group as a whole, something about rallying together for some event that didn't matter and Ben didn't care about. Leslie wasn't even in charge, she wasn't president, but she was spearheading the meeting as if she was, so Ben didn't exactly feel inclined to give her the time of day. Not when there was a cute girl texting him.

“Is everyone listening?” Leslie huffed, and Ben could feel her eyes on him. He didn't even bother to look up, sending Shauna a quick text heart. If nothing else but to have a reason to keep texting. 

“Absolutely listening,” Ben mumbled, still not looking, and he felt her anger rise.

“I'm  _ trying  _ to make an announcement,  _ asshole.” _

She was a little  _ too  _ lucky that Ron Swanson was the head teacher in charge of Student Council, because he didn't give a damn what Leslie did. He sat back in his corner desk with a block of wood to carve and a steak he brought for lunch, tuning out everything, occasionally mentioning that all these activities were a waste of time anyway, and they definitely shouldn't be teaching government principles to students. So it was a little too easy for her to get away with calling him an asshole.

The insult made him uneasy, however, more than Ben wanted to let on. It was still very early sophomore year, and he was still getting a lay of the land. He had Andy, sure, and now he supposed Shauna, but other than that most people were strangers. He wasn't really going to have anyone sticking up for him here if Leslie started yelling at him.

So why did he want to piss her off so badly?

“And I'm  _ trying  _ to have a text conversation with someone,” Ben retorted back, waving his phone at her. She had her arms crossed over her chest, her whole body tensed up, and he fought the urge to grin. “It's very important.”

“You're a jerk,” she hissed. “You already made me late for class today with your  _ indecency,  _ and now you're going to talk through my announcement? What are you even doing on Student Council if you're just going to mess around?”

“Weird, I don't remember you being Student Council president—”

_ “I'm Secretary, I'm allowed to make an announcement—” _

“And I'm allowed to not care,” he quipped. And as if on cue, his phone rang, music playing loud enough to properly annoy Leslie even further. It was just a spam call, nothing important, but Ben had to bite back his grin just at the entire situation, the way she nearly shrieked with annoyance.

Oh, but Ben could do her  _ one better. _

He declined the spam call, but then instantly brought the phone to his ear as if he had answered it. “Oh, hey Shauna,” he said into the phone, lying through his teeth, trying not to give himself away. “Aww, babe, I miss you, too. No, I'm not doing anything important.”

_ “Are you kidding me?!”  _ Leslie screamed, and Ben couldn't help but think she looked like a little teapot— tiny and cute and absolutely steaming. Not a threat. “Tell your little  _ girlfriend  _ to keep it in her pants, why don't you? You have a  _ meeting,  _ Wyatt.”

Ben mocked a pout, still with his phone to his ear. “You don't care about my girlfriend, Knope? You don't wanna talk to her? She can tell you all about this morning when I—”

“I don't wanna hear about it!” She held her hands over her ears, looking ready to burst. He didn't think he had ever seen her quite so frustrated. “I don't care about Shauna, I don't like her  _ or  _ you.”

“Shauna, babe, do you hear that? Honestly, yeah, she's such a jerk to you—”

_ “Put down your phone, asshole!” _

Ben sighed, long and drawn out. “I guess I gotta go, babe,” he said into the phone. “But I'll see you tonight. I miss you and your face  _ so  _ much.” He pulled his phone from his ear and pretended to hang up, setting it down on his desk. He gestured wildly between it and Leslie, raising a brow. “Are you happy now?”

“No,” she hissed, her nose scrunched up. “Why the hell did you do that? Are you trying to piss me off?”

“Is it that obvious? No, I just always answer my phone.”

“Liar.”

“Totally true. I answer every call, no matter what. Just a thing I do.”

“You're totally lying to me. You're not even a good liar.”

Ben didn't think that was true, considering he had just lied about calling Shauna right to Leslie’s face and she hadn't noticed. That, and he totally  _ was  _ lying through his teeth when he claimed it was his habit to always pick up his phone. Sure, he tried to pick up most times, because his little sister Steph would call from anywhere whenever she was having a hard time, but it wasn't exactly the constant habit he was claiming it to be.

“I don't know what more you want from me, Knope,” he said, and he even put his hands in the air as if in surrender. “If my phone rings, I'm gonna answer it.”

“I'll watch you then,” she spit suddenly, looking surprised by her own words. “I'll make sure to watch you. If your phone rings I'll expect you to pick up.”

Ben grinned, but this time it was a little more wary. How far would he have to go to keep this bit going? “Then I guess you'll see, won't you? How about you return to your precious little meeting, Madam President? —Oh, my bad, that's right, you're the  _ Secretary.” _

Leslie fully screamed then, instantly set off again, her hands going to her hair. “This meeting is  _ over. Meeting adjourned, Mr. Swanson.” _

She stormed out the classroom door without even another look back, Ron slowly looking up from his desk with little care. And despite the fact that Leslie didn't have the ranking to adjourn a meeting, Ron only shrugged, leaned back in his seat, and muttered, “Sounds good to me.”

“Dude, that was  _ amazing.”  _ Ben spun around to a higher-pitched voice on his right, a boy standing and grinning open-mouthed at him as if he had just seen a miracle. Ben recognized him, vaguely, as the sophomore class representative in Student Council, but he had never been bothered to learn his name. He spent too much time just trying to annoy Leslie.

“Uhh, thanks,” Ben responded, much more awkwardly now, his hand rubbing the back of his neck. “I didn't really do anything—”

“You pissed Leslie off, man, and you lived to tell!” The boy laughed, an odd chirping sound, and Ben took note of how  _ well-dressed  _ he was for a sophomore student. He had a  _ tie  _ on. Granted, it was a silver sparkling tie, but it was still a tie. “Tom Haverford,” he introduced himself. “And you're Ben, right?”

“Yeah, Ben Wyatt.”

“I gotta say, I don't actually hate Knope. She's pretty funny, sometimes, but God, it does feel good to see someone get her all riled up. My boyfriend will get a kick out of this when I tell him.  _ Genius.  _ Now you're really gonna have to answer your phone all the time, aren't you?”

Maybe it was because he instantly saw through his gag, but Ben decided relatively quickly that he liked Tom. And maybe it would be nice to have another friend, one who would laugh with him as Leslie stormed out. And he was right, after all, now he would really need to pick up his phone more.

And an entire year later at a Tom Haverford-party, as she sat on the patio with him drunk and asked for his number, suddenly there was so much more at stake. Suddenly there was an entire other layer added on to what was previously a bit. Leslie went home with his phone number memorized that night, but she never called him, never texted. She just knew his number.

And maybe Ben started answering every single phone call after that just wondering if it would be her that time. Maybe even kind of hoping it would be.

It never was, but he always picked up anyway. Just in case.

***

**PRESENT DAY**

Ben meets up with a very confused Tom outside his house, blinking at him as if he's insane.

“So, lemme get this straight,” Tom starts, a hand out. “You've been hiding out in your house for days, a total hermit crab shut-in, and the  _ one  _ time you want to leave and get some sun you do it to visit your ex-girl?”

Ben sighs, and shrugs aimlessly. “Well, when you put it like that, it sounds weird.”

“That's because it  _ is  _ weird. Are you so hard up that you need to try and get back into her pants?”

“Oh,  _ god, no.  _ That's not what's happening.” Ben makes a face, and starts to pull Tom with him across the street. “I just wanna talk to her. It just… what if it's not a coincidence, Shauna coming back now?”

“You sound crazy.”

“Maybe. But she legitimately  _ disappeared  _ a month before graduation, didn't talk to anyone, and now she's suddenly back home? What if whatever happened to her is what's happening to Leslie? What if this means Leslie will be back in a month?”

Tom pauses, and slows to a stop, holding on to Ben before he gets too far. “Look, dude, I'll go with you to talk to Shauna, alright? But I just… don't want you to get your hopes up if she doesn't know anything. It really might be nothing at all, you know that, right?”

But Ben doesn't want to listen to logic, or reason. “It will be something. Anything. I just know it, even if it's small. It  _ has to be.” _

So Tom seems to give in, back to following Ben across the street to where they know Shauna’s house to be. She's outside, actually, looking like she's just grabbing the mail or picking basil leaves from her garden, and even from a distance, Ben can tell something is off about it all.

Shauna has always been a small girl, but now she looks positively gaunt, all skin and bones and dark circles under her eyes and her skin not quite so clear as it used to be. Where she used to stand up straight, now she hunches over, her shoulders sagging, or curling inwards, eyes cast downwards. Her hair doesn't curl anymore, but lays long and limp, like she couldn't be bothered to do anything with it, couldn't even be bothered to wash it enough.

“Shauna?” Ben calls when they get close enough, and she instantly  _ jumps—  _ as if completely shocked, terrified out her mind, nearly falling over. She spins around to look at them and holds a hand to her heart, trying to even her breathing. “Oh god, are you okay? I'm so sorry—”

“I’m fine,” she insists, but she's still slightly hunched over, her chest rising and falling. “I just… I just didn't see you there. I wasn't expecting you. Um, hi Ben, hi Tom. How are you?”

Ben exchanges a glance with Tom, who holds his arms up, making it very clear that he's on his own here. “I'm… fine. Uh, but how are you? You kind of— you know, disappeared? We all thought you dropped out. You did, right?”

Her eyes widen, and it's now that Ben notices a distinct lack of emotion there, like her eyes are much duller than they used to be. Almost  _ older.  _ Like she's seen things. “Drop out? Oh my gosh, no, I just left Pawnee High. I started homeschooling for my last month.”

“Wait, what? Why?”

“I, um… I couldn't be at that school anymore.”

“Woah,  _ wait,”  _ Tom interrupts suddenly, and he pushes himself up next to Ben, looking at Shauna carefully. “You've been homeschooling? Where? You haven't been home—”

“What makes you think I haven't been home?”

Ben’s heart hammers in his chest, and he knows, he just  _ knows  _ that something is off here, something is wrong. There's a missing piece to the story here that Ben doesn't know, and it feels so close he can taste it. “You… you've been home?” he asks her, his throat suddenly very dry. “But you haven't been out, at all. No one's seen you, no one so much as got a text from you, or we’d have heard about it.”

“Yeah,” Tom adds. “I live across the street from you. There's been  _ nothing.  _ Your car hasn't even moved from that spot—”

“Well I've been home!” Shauna’s voice gets higher pitched, and she takes one step back. “I've just been staying indoors, why are you asking? Why do you care—”

“Shauna.” Ben’s voice drops, much lower now, far more serious. It's sharp enough that it stops her in her tracks. “You don't know about Leslie, do you?”

She pales considerably. “Leslie…? What about Leslie? She hasn't— You haven't— Did something happen? What did she do?”

_ She doesn't know.  _ Shauna has been home in Pawnee this whole time, just hiding out in her house, and she's even managed to avoid hearing the news about Leslie. Ben doesn't want to be the bearer of bad news, he really doesn't, but he sees no other way around this, not if he's going to try and get answers somehow.

“Shauna,” he says again, sadder this time. “Leslie is missing.”

“She… she's what?”

“She went missing. She never showed up for graduation—”

_ “She never showed up for graduation?  _ Are you sure it was  _ graduation?” _

“Yes. I know because I had to do her speech instead. She's a missing person and we've been trying to find her, to get some kind of clue because the police are useless—”

“You won't find her,” Shauna hisses, stumbling backwards. It strikes fear in his heart, the kind of phrase that paralyzes him. Ben opens his mouth to ask, because she  _ must know something,  _ takes a step closer to her to try and reach her, calm her down, but she just distances herself further, now refusing to even so much as meet their eyes. “Oh my god,” she heaves, sounding thick with tears. “Oh my god, oh god, I can't do this. I'm so sorry, it was great seeing you both, but I have to go—”

_ “What?  _ No, Shauna, you can't go yet, I wanted to ask you about—”

_ “Don't.  _ Don't ask me about anything. Nothing at all. You know what? Just… don't talk to me anymore. I'm sick. I'm super sick and I can't talk. Good luck with everything, gotta go, bye!”

Shauna runs back into her house without looking back, her front door slamming shut so violently that it shakes, and Ben winces at the sound of the impact. He hears her lock her door,  _ both  _ locks, and pull all her curtains shut, and then it's silent. Then he's left just to process what happened, what she said, and what this means now. Where the hell can he go from here?

Tom rubs his eyes with his palms. “I think you're right, man, I think she knows something,” he admits with a defeated sigh. “I don't know what, or how we’re gonna get it, but there's something here.”

Ben shakes his head, staring at the rustling curtains at the front of Shauna’s house. There's just too much of a coincidence, but absolutely nothing is adding up. He purses his lips and stares at Tom. “And yet, every time I feel like I'm getting closer, I actually just feel farther away.”

So he walks back home. And with every step he takes, he seems to lose Leslie all over again. She slips farther and farther away from him, until there's nothing left to hold onto, nothing left of her in the sky that he can scream at.

He only has his nightmares to grow addicted to, his nightmares to see her. Where she holds his face and he can pretend she's here, he can pretend everything is okay even for just a moment, before the bleeding starts and she's crashing out, falling apart, falling down. He goes down with her, every single time. He doesn't even think he's capable of stopping himself at this point.

It's the only place he can hear her, soft and pleading, a stolen lullaby that she sings to him as she goes.

_ It's not enough. _


	11. Chapter 11

“I think we should talk to Swanson.”

“Wait, what? Why?”

Ben sighs into his phone, a hand reaching up to rub at his brow. “Just… maybe he knows something about Shauna.”

He can practically see Ann rolling her eyes at the other end of the line. “Just because he's a teacher doesn't mean he knows every single student.”

“Yeah, but he knew Leslie pretty well. And if Leslie and Shauna are connected—”

“You don't know that they are. You don't know that—”

“I'm pretty damn convinced, Ann.” It's almost obvious, isn't it? The way Shauna freaked out when he and Tom confronted her, it couldn't be a coincidence. There’s something more at play here, and Ben is more determined than ever to find out. “And I feel like to get the bigger picture, we need to talk to more people that know Leslie. And that includes Mr. Swanson.”

“Ben, are you sure Shauna wasn't just… freaked out because you dropped the bomb on her about Leslie being missing? I mean…” she sighs, pausing for a moment. He's not surprised that she's fighting him like this— Ann has been very stagnant lately. Almost like every single day, she seems to lose hope, while Ben just wants to fight even harder. “What's your plan here? What do you think talking to Swanson will accomplish?”

“Listen… even if we don't learn anything about Shauna, even if I'm completely wrong there, what if we still learn something new about Leslie? It's worth a shot, don't you think?”

“I think you're just desperate.”

“And  _ I  _ think you're going to end up coming with me despite that.”

And he's right— of course he is. Ann comes to pick him up and the drive to Pawnee High School is a quiet one. But that's where Ben and Ann have been recently, as friends: comfortable silence. A quiet understanding of each other and what they're going through, knowing that words aren't enough anymore, words won't fix a thing, speaking won't make them feel better. Just the presence of being with someone that Leslie knew— that's enough.

It's honestly a comfort more than anything when they're standing in front of Ron Swanson, who looks as if he doesn't even want to be here in the first place. He's not even  _ supposed  _ to be, really— school is over, it's summertime, and Ron is supposed to be deep in his cabin with his guns and his whiskey, hidden so well that nobody would be able to find him.

But it seems Chris Traeger has taken this whole  _ investigation  _ thing to heart, even more than the actual police have. He's asking lots of the staff to come in, apparently, not just to work on next year’s curriculum, but as a sort of look-out to see if Leslie might just return to the  _ school,  _ of all places.

No one ever said Chris Traeger made any sense at all. He's just very… enthusiastic.

“What the hell makes the two of you think that I might actually want to see you when you're not required to be here?” Ron snaps, leaning back in his chair. They’ve found him in his classroom, all the way at the back of the school next to the history wing, a bottle of whiskey out that he's definitely not supposed to have on campus. “Especially you, Wyatt.”

Ben bristles at this comment, his eyes fluttering shut briefly. “I didn't do anything,” he defends himself, unable to help it. “You should know that. The police know that.”

“The goddamn police don't know  _ anything,”  _ he insists. “It's pathetic. They're nothing but a bunch of whack jobs walking around thinking they know things because they have a uniform on. It's a pointless program that needs to be defunded—"

“Okay, great, thanks. We get it, you hate all programs under the government ever.” Ben sighs, rubbing his brow. “But I swear to you, I didn't do anything. I actually agree with you, that the police aren't doing anything. And I…  _ we,  _ Ann and I, we want to do something.”

Ron looks at them for a long time, his whiskey glass swirling gently in his hand. He surveys them, studies them, as if testing their resolve, or perhaps how genuine they're being. If he should even  _ trust them.  _ “What do you want to do, exactly?” he finally asks.

It's Ann that answers this time, with a rush of breath. “Find Leslie,” she gasps. “We want to find her. If they can't, we will.”

He arches a single brow at this, before nodding his head once. “So you're investigating. Talking to people. And I'm just next on your list?”

“You could say that.”

“Bully for you,” Ron mumbles, and he even raises his glass— just a little, never enough for them to actually start to think he respects them. “God knows you'll find out more than these idiots will.”

“So we wanted to ask you some questions,” Ben says, Ann rocking nervously on the balls of her feet beside him. “We just want to see if you might know anything. We’ve gotten a little bit of leeway—”

“He  _ thinks  _ we've gotten a little bit of leeway,” Ann mumbles, and Ben just rolls his eyes, ignoring her.

“We know you were close with Leslie, Mr. Swanson. And the last time you saw her was directly after school, right? On the last day?”

Ron shifts a little, as if deeply contemplating something. “Normally… I would refuse to engage in any sort of questioning. Or I would make it harder on you by answering your questions with another question. However, since this is for Leslie…” His voice softens at the end, the most humane Ben has ever heard him. “Yes, that was the last time I saw her. She was a nervous wreck, so I told her to go home. Get some rest before graduation.”

“And then she ran into me on her way out,” Ben thinks out loud. “She  _ did  _ look like a nervous wreck. And we know I was the last one to see her.” He wrings his hands together, trying to think. “Mr. Swanson, do you know Shauna Malwae-Tweep?”

“Tiny little thing that wrote for the school paper? I think she was in one of my classes before she left school. Didn't care to know anything about her.”

Ann scoffs. “There goes your  _ lead,  _ Ben.”

“Okay, listen, just because he doesn't know her, that doesn't mean—”

_ “Quiet,”  _ Ron snaps, and Ben and Ann instantly shut up, standing at attention. “Clearly, what you two need is more information. You don't have enough. You have a lot of feelings and no evidence, and you won't get anywhere living on  _ hope  _ alone, do you understand?”

“I'm trying,” Ben pleads. “I really am trying—”

“I have a request,” Ron interrupts. “I want you to come back to me if you learn anything. When you get new information, you tell me, do you understand?”

Ben wonders, then, if when it comes down to it, he should really  _ trust  _ Ron Swanson. It's a big thing that he wants in on, something huge for Ben to commit to, and for a moment, he's just scared. Scared that he's making the wrong moves, walking down the wrong paths, befriending the wrong people. If it's possible that every step he feels is closer is actually just a step further away.

But at the end of the day, is it really about him? Does it really matter who  _ he  _ trusts? Leslie trusted Ron, trusted him with so much even before she came to high school, and that has to count for something, right? That he's like a father to her where she has none.

Can he really afford not to trust him anyway?

“Okay,” Ben says slowly, his exhale shaky. “Okay. How will I—”

“I'll give you something that has been granted to very, very few people in my life, something not even Leslie has— my phone number. For emergencies and information only.” Ron writes it on a piece of paper and slips it to Ann, who pockets it with a look of wonder on her face. This feels like a small miracle. “And listen to me,” Ron says, his voice dropping. “If you do find anything, do  _ not  _ go to the police with it. Do you understand me? Come straight to me, not to them.”

“Wait, why?” Ann asks. “I mean, we know they're incompetent, but—”

“Just don't,” he snaps. “Trust me. And get out of my office.”

As much as they want to, they don't question him, not this time. Ron looks even more serious than before, a dark look crossing his features, and Ben doesn't want to stick around to find out what he has to say if they disagree. So they leave, Ben pushing open the classroom door with Ann right on his heels.

“That did nothing,” Ann hisses as soon as the door shuts, and they're alone once more. “We seriously didn't learn a thing. This is hopeless.”

Ben grimaces, leading them through the empty hallways, their footsteps echoing in their wake. “I mean, at least we have an ally, right? I don't know, it feels kind of good to think he doesn't totally hate me, and that someone thinks we’re doing the right thing here.”

“So you're measuring success based on gaining a sense of validation?” She scoffs. “We keep talking to people, Ben, and everytime we learn nothing at all or too little to be of any use. The police have no information at all—”

“And we had to tell them about Mark,” he finishes. “Who they let go. And he told us he didn't do anything to her, when we talked to him.”

“And he might be right about that. Technically, the possibility is still up in the air, but it feels very, very slight.”

“Right. Very slight. Just an asshole, but not necessarily a kidnapper. And we've talked to all our friends. Tom and Andy, Jean-Ralphio and April—”

“Jen,” she says, with a hint of a blush. “And Donna.”

“And  _ they  _ gave us some information.”

“But again, like I said, very little. We know she was anxious all day and she didn't take sugar in her coffee. She didn't raise her hand in class and she barely talked to anyone. That isn't exactly a lead.”

As much as Ben hates to admit it, she's right. They're like tiny little clues that all add up to some kind of foul play, without the actual missing piece they need to start their hunt. They're running in circles, finding nothing at all, only reinforcing the idea that Leslie didn't feel good at all on her last day of school, and then disappeared altogether.

“Shauna felt like a lead,” he says dejectedly. “I'm serious, she did. She still does. I seriously think there's something there.”

“You scared her half to death, Ben. She  _ just  _ got up the strength to get out and start walking around again, and you instantly tell her about Leslie. I mean, how did you think she was going to react?”

He wants to tell her it's  _ different.  _ Ann didn't see Shauna, not the way he and Tom did, she doesn't know. She didn't see the fear in her eyes, how quickly she backed away, locking every lock on her door to create a barrier between them. Ann didn't hear her when she said…

“She said we wouldn't find her,” Ben says suddenly, the image coming to him. “When I went to see Shauna, and she found out about Leslie. She told me I wouldn't find her.”

This makes Ann pause, stopping in her tracks to turn and stare at Ben, brows furrowing. He can see the gears working in her head, trying to find some kind of reasonable explanation for this without giving Ben the satisfaction of winning. “I…” she mumbles. “Why would she say that? Are you sure you heard her right?”

“Oh my god, of course I'm sure—”

“Excuse me?”

It's a new voice, one that freezes Ben and Ann to the spot. His hands are up in the air but still, he doesn't dare move them, only flinching as heavy-set footsteps make their way towards them, pounding on the hall floors. Ben isn't sure how they missed someone in the school— they were certain they were alone, it was the  _ only  _ reason they were speaking so freely about Leslie and the investigation. To think that someone heard…

“Pardon?” the voice says again, clearly trying to be polite, and Ben and Ann slowly turn, as if expecting to see the devil himself standing before them. But it's not— not even close, actually. 

One of the school janitors stands in front of them, clutching his broom very tightly in his red-knuckled fists. He's a heavier man, and an older one, with graying hair and wrinkles near his frown, looking anxiously between Ben and Ann. He’s clumsy— he nearly trips on his own broom as he faces them.

“Um,” Ben chokes. “Hi.”

“I'm so sorry,” the janitor insists, pressing a hand to his heart. “I really didn't mean to eavesdrop, I just… I… I’m Jerry. Gergich. Jerry Gergich. I was just cleaning, because I work here, and I heard the two of you kids talking about Shauna Malwae-Tweep, right? And, well… I kind of know something, I think.”

A chill runs down Ben’s spine, but he's not sure if it's out of fear or excitement. “You… know something? About Shauna?”

“And Leslie,” Jerry whispers, not that he's very good at keeping quiet. The man is stumbling over all his words, trying to find solid ground, trying to get everything out as if any minute now someone might stop him from speaking and he'll lose his opportunity. He clearly doesn't have the chance to talk very often. “When you're the janitor, you hear a lot. People kind of overlook you, and they say things in front of you. As if I'm not listening. No one ever really cares about me or if I'm there—”

“Cut to the chase,” Ann snaps, and Jerry insistently withers and obeys her command. “What do you know about Leslie?”

“Oh gosh, okay, I…” he stares at the floor and takes a deep breath. “A month before school was out, maybe, Shauna and Leslie were talking in the hallway when no one else was around. I didn't hear everything they said, but Shauna looked pretty upset. Leslie looked upset. And Shauna, you know, she was just begging Leslie to help her. I don't know with what, but she kept asking her, over and over again, asking for help. That's… that's all I've got, but it feels like something. I hope it's something.”

The floor seems to crumble away from under Ben, and he holds a hand to his chest, trying to put all the pieces together while his mind is still so scrambled. And it ignites something in him, Jerry’s tiny story, reminds him of a memory he forgot about, maybe even buried because it ended up painful, something  _ so goddamn important now,  _ and how has he been such a massive fool this whole time to have not remembered it?

“Oh god,” he mumbles, heaving over, staring at the hallway floor. “Oh god, I remember this. Kind of. I remember something like… I saw Leslie with Shauna once. About a month before graduation. Oh my god. Oh god…”

Ann winces, watching Ben as he holds himself up with his hands on his knees. “Well,” she whispers, her voice thick with emotion. “I hate to say it. But I think you might actually be onto something here, Wyatt.”

***

**SENIOR YEAR**

**ONE MONTH BEFORE GRADUATION**

They were doing alright.

They were doing more than alright, even. They were doing  _ good.  _ Ben and Leslie were all tentative smiles and soft laughter and some quiet understanding of each other, and it really and truly looked like they would make it out of high school unscathed, in one piece, and without feeling like they still had an enemy they were leaving behind.

Her eyes were starting to shine a little differently, when she looked at him. Sometimes she would reach out to touch his arm, or he would playfully bump her, and neither would get mad about it. And he didn't want to jinx it, but it  _ truly  _ felt like they were becoming friends. As if they could finally put this rivalry to rest.

But somehow, he did seem to jinx it.

It wasn't anything either of them did, not really, but maybe it was Ben's reaction to it. He shouldn't even be surprised, and it shouldn't even matter to him— it was just a dumb speech for graduation. Leslie was President, so of course she would say it. And Ben was never exactly fantastic in front of crowds anyway.

But he couldn't fight the feeling that he really just wanted to  _ prove  _ himself. He wanted to stand in front of the crowd and show that he’d gotten better, that he could do the speech if he really wanted to, and make Leslie see that he was more than capable. He  _ wanted  _ Leslie to see, and to be impressed. He wanted her to come up to him after graduation and congratulate him on a job well done. Maybe shake his hand, maybe even smile.

It was possible her praise was the only reason he truly wanted it.

But now it was useless, because it was her speech. Ben left Ron that day in a hurry, knowing with absolute certainty that Leslie couldn't have left school to go home yet, and by God, did he have a bone to pick. He was angry, for something out of either of their control, and she was always the easiest to take it out on.

He strolled down the empty school hallway, footsteps echoing, listening for any sounds, any sign of someone else. And he was close to the history wing all the way at the back of school when it happened— hushed voices, scattered footsteps, the soft but unmistakable sound of crying.

_ “Shhh, shhh,”  _ Leslie whispered, but it was just loud enough that Ben could hear. He rounded the corner, fully prepared to tear Leslie away from whatever she was doing to pick a fight, when he fully caught sight of the scene and stopped in his tracks.

Leslie was holding the shoulders of Shauna Malwae-Tweep, who was weeping softly into her hands. She held the girl close, running a hand down her back, checking over her shoulders, through the windows, up and down the hallways. Ben was only just out of sight, and too far away to hear the words they were mumbling to each other, but one thing was for sure— this was painfully serious.

Shauna looked up with red eyes, mascara down her cheeks, her bottom lip jutting out as if she was begging for something that Leslie just wouldn't give. Leslie kept shaking her head, actually, working herself up until she had to back away from Shauna, hands curled into fists.

“Don't do that,” Shauna cried, much louder this time, and Leslie  _ jumped,  _ looking around one more time. “Please don't, you can't do that, don't do this—”

_ “Shut up,”  _ Leslie hissed, and she pushed Shauna further back, away from where Ben stood, talking quickly and quietly into her ear. And Ben could only watch, completely transfixed by the scene, because no part of it made any sense. Neither girl ever particularly got along, not really. Leslie would scoff and roll her eyes at Shauna, and Shauna would very pointedly ignore Leslie at every turn, shooting each other looks, the worst of it during their sophomore year.

Shauna was Ben’s ex-girlfriend, for god's sake, and Leslie was… well, Leslie was his  _ rival.  _ They weren't supposed to get along at all, let alone comfort each other while they cried. 

Leslie pulled Shauna into a hug, and she stiffened, obviously slightly uncomfortable, before pushing away and running off. Shauna shut the hall doors behind her, leaving it slamming in her wake with an angry Leslie, frustrated and red faced, pressing her forehead into a locker.

Her hands were shaking.

He really, really shouldn't have said anything.

“You alright there, Knope?” he called out, and she jumped again, pressing a hand to her heart. She was heaving as she caught his eye, rolling her own as he got closer.

“So it's  _ Knope  _ again, huh?” she asked, sliding her palms down her thighs. “What do you want?”

Ben shrugged. “Just wondering why you're here so late.”

“No you're not. Quit lying. If you want me to—”

“I don't,” he interrupted quickly, swallowing hard on the panic that bubbled in his throat. “I don't… I don't want you to do… that.”

“Good. Because I wasn't going to. I'm busy.”

“Busy with what, comforting my ex?”

Leslie paled, whipping her head back around to look him dead in the eye. “You saw that?”

“I saw that she was crying. But it's whatever, she does that a lot. I'm pretty sure she cried everyday when we dated.” That much was true, Shauna would cry at anything. A pretty flower, a cute dog, a news story from across the country, even dropping a spoon on the floor. She was a delicate little thing, really, never exactly the type to speak out or stand up for herself. Just gentle smiles, quiet thoughts, soft tears. “But whatever, I don't wanna talk about her. I heard you get to do the graduation speech.”

She winced, her face falling just slightly. “Ah, okay. So you're upset about that?”

“Maybe.” He bit his lip.

“You know I had nothing to do with that, right?"

“Well, you kind of did. You did sign up for it, and then auditioned for it—”

She gaped at him, mouth open wide, her face burning bright red. “Oh my god,” she exclaimed, rising in volume. “I can't believe you. You are  _ actually  _ completely unbelievable, Ben Wyatt, do you know that?”

“Oh, so now you're going to insult me? I don't think—”

“Just be quiet for just a  _ minute,  _ won't you? I'm just… I’m just kind of lost in how disgusting you are. And I'm not doing this with you.”

“So, you'll hash it out with  _ Shauna  _ but not with me? Even after—”

_ “Yes,  _ I will, because you're nothing but a jerk.” Her hands were shaking, eyes looking ready to kill. It was the most angry she had been towards him for months, everything she kept repressed bubbling under the surface and threatening to explode. Her fuse was very short today— something was different. Something was very, very off.

And Ben wasn't sure it actually had anything much to do with him.

Leslie pinched her nose, looking down at the hall floor. He could tell she was fighting tears. “God, and to think that I… that I almost thought we could…”

“Thought we could  _ what?”  _ he snapped, and he knew as soon as the words were out of his mouth that it was a mistake. “That we could be together? That we could somehow put this all aside and even manage to  _ stand  _ each other for more than five minutes? I mean, did you really think that was possible?”

She was strangely calm, all things considered, but that’s what was scariest. She didn't break down, or fall apart, or scream at him. She didn't even start to cry. She just bit her lip, refused to look at him, and shook her head, as if resigned to this fate.

“You're right,” she said, and there was something so dejected about it, something almost broken. “I was a fool to think we could be anything else.”

***

**PRESENT DAY**

It's a goddamn miracle Ben gets Ann to agree, but at this point, even she is deadly curious, especially as he recounts his story to her on the drive over to Shauna's house.

“You really saw them together?” she asks him, chancing a glance over at him. “In the hallways, alone?”

Ben nods, staring at his hands in his lap. “God, yeah. And I was an ass. And Shauna was crying, Leslie was more worked up than I'd seen her in a while… I think I kind of sensed at the time that she was okay with taking her anger out on me, that it wasn't  _ just  _ me, and that has to be true, right? Bigger things were happening.”

“Don't think for a second you had nothing to do with it. Seriously. Just because something bigger might've been going on, that doesn't mean you were incapable of hurting her.”

He remembers the look on her face, then, when he slapped the impossibility of them being together right in her face. The way her shoulders slumped, her eyes got wider, sadder. How resigned she was, all the anger seeping out of her into something far more empty when she came to agree with him. It's the one thing he decidedly didn't tell Ann about, but he thinks, for a moment, that it's possible he broke her heart.

And he never even knew he had her heart to break in the first place.

“Maybe you're right,” Ben admits lowly. “I… you’re right. I was an ass.”

They reach Shauna’s house and Ben can only think they're way more lucky than they should be— she's in her front lawn again, sitting on a garden chair and staring at the daisies. She's eerily silent, to the point that it's terrifying, and she only stares blankly, almost unmoving, and he can't tell if she's being pensive or if her mind is completely blank.

“Oh god,” Ann mumbles, parking her car across the street. “I can see what you mean now. She really doesn't look good.”

“Not at all,” he agrees. “Do you think she’ll be more inclined to talk if you're here? I mean, kind of like a girl talk situation?”

Ann rolls her eyes. “Normally I'd laugh at you, but considering you're also her ex and she's already banished you once from her lawn, you might be right. Let's just… let's just be quick about this. I don't have a good feeling about any of it.”

Shauna sees them as soon as they walk up, ripping her eyes away from her tiny garden to gape at them, looking upset that they're here at all. “What are you doing here?” she asks him, looking at him directly while completely glossing over Ann. “Why do you keep bringing your friends here? I want… I need to be left alone—”

“Shauna, hey, I'm so sorry,” he tells her, holding a hand out as if to steady them, keeping their distance. “I'm so sorry. We just wanted to talk to you about—”

“Leslie,” Ann interrupts, and her voice sounds warbled. Ben looks at her out of the corner of his eye to see her rocking back and forth, sudden tears spilling out of her eyes and running down her face. “We want to talk to you about Leslie.”

“I don't… I don't know anything about Leslie.” She only glances at Ann, but it's enough to send her spiraling further, her eyes filling with pity and something like pure terror. “I don't wanna talk about Leslie. I'm sorry, but—”

“What did you need her help with?” Ann asks through her tears, and Ben wants to ask her to calm down, maybe take it slower, because Shauna is already a volatile person lately, and adding more emotions and hard questions to the mix is bound to be a nasty combination. “The janitor said he heard you asking Leslie for help. Just before graduation. Why?”

The three stare at each other for a moment, back and forth, the tension thick and the silence deafening. For a moment, Ben thinks Ann’s hard approach might actually be working— Shauna looks like she might have something to say, working up the nerve to spit it out, when instead she completely bursts into heartbreaking sobs, throwing her head in her hands and weeping.

“Oh god,” she cries, her shoulders shaking, and Ben and Ann are too stunned to move. “Oh god, it's my fault,  _ it's my fault, all my fault…” _

There's that feeling again— the feeling of a puzzle piece trying to find its place. “Shauna?” Ben asks, taking one step closer. “What do you mean? What's your fault?”

_ “All of it!”  _ she shouts, rubbing her eyes. “All of it, all of it, all of it is my fault. You're gonna hate me, you're all gonna hate me…”

“Why would we hate you?”

Shauna collapses into her garden chair, Ben and Ann rushing to her side to make sure she's okay. Her whole face is red, heaving with breaths that are too hard to find when she can't stop crying. She's gasping, really, desperate for air, just desperate to get out. She shakes her head.

“Leslie saw something,” she groans, sniffling hard. “She… she… she saw something, and now she's gone,  _ and it's all my fault.” _

It shouldn't be a happy moment. Not even close. If anything, it's a painful reminder that foul play is to blame here for Leslie’s disappearance, and she could be seriously hurt. But at Shauna’s words, breaking down in front of her house, right now it can only feel like a breakthrough.

Ben exchanges a look with Ann, and he knows she must be thinking the same thing. It's small, almost insignificant, but it's much more than the police have, a testament to an investigation on the right tracks.  _ A start. _

And there it is, that tiny, dangerous little flame of a feeling inside his chest, just enough to ruin him—  _ hope. _


	12. Chapter 12

They sit in Ann’s living room alone, pouring over extensive notes.

It's a mess, really, a complete mess. Papers and pens are scattered, notebooks lying open, a large bulletin board lying on the floor between them with pictures and quotes tacked on, a handful of pins by Ben’s knee. And still, despite it all, there's not enough of a connection.

“Go through it again,” Ann sighs, rubbing her face. “Just… the whole thing, one more time.”

Ben takes a deep breath and picks up the nearest notebook, filled with his cramped handwriting, surveying the board. “Okay. First thing on the timeline: the janitor, Jerry, and I witnessed Leslie with Shauna, who was crying. Shauna was begging for help, but Shauna was also begging Leslie  _ not  _ to do something.”

“Right. Kind of contradicting.”

“And next, Shauna dropped out of school. Leslie proceeded to act weirder, until she got at her weirdest on the last day of school. You talked to her.”

Ann nods. “I did, at lunch. She wasn't really talking much, for once. And we know she had plain coffee and didn't participate in class. Swanson sent her home early because she looked like a mess, where she ran into you. You both fought—”

“Fought, yeah.” Ben’s face heats up, and it occurs to him, then, that the last time he saw Leslie Knope, they  _ fought.  _ They attempted to tear down the very thing they had spent precious time working towards, little moments where a rivalry didn't sound so great anymore. It crumbled down between them on that day, the very  _ last  _ day, and the worst part is? Even if she didn't disappear, it could’ve very well been the last time they ever saw each other. And they  _ knew that.  _ “She didn't… look good. It was bad. And she left me.”

“And nobody saw her since. Okay, so we know she didn't reach her car in the senior parking lot, because it was still there even after graduation. And the school security footage shows nothing in the parking lot, according to the police. She didn't even get that far.”

“It happened inside the school,” Ben whispers, staring at the pulled up roster on his laptop, full of student names and staff information. “And the people within the school that might’ve had a grudge on her include her exes— Mark Brendanawicz, and… what was the other guy? Dave Sanderson.”

“Oh god, Dave,” Ann groans. “I don't think we need to worry about Dave. He was an ass, but in a different way than Mark. Besides, his dad is the police chief. He couldn't get away with anything even if he wanted to.”

Ben shrugs, but doesn't cross Dave’s name off the list. “We could still talk to him, maybe. We might be able to get some insider information on the leads his dad has. And the staff, the teachers—”

“They all love Leslie. They always have.”

“Right. What about her mom? Marlene?”

A strange tension fills the room, and he can see Ann flinch, just slightly, like she's trying to hide it. But Ben notices, sees the way she turns away from him, fiddles with her pen in her fingers. “Marlene…” Ann mumbles, low and cautious. “She’s… interesting. She and Leslie never really had a good relationship.”

He thinks back on junior year, one drunken conversation, several confessions, and a phone number. “I heard,” he says grimly. “At least, I heard a little. I know she never went to any of Leslie’s events.”

Ann shakes her head. “None of them. And she didn't really act like a mother in the house, either. Marlene… she’s really withholding. And never really believed in Leslie. It's like she thought she was this goofy, clumsy little thing with childish hopes and dreams.”

It's strange to think of Leslie like that, if only because it makes no sense at all. How do you look at bright, burning Leslie Knope and decide she can't do anything she sets her mind to? How do you live with a daughter but manage to not really raise her or love her at all? Not for the first time, Ben feels pity for her, but he also feels connection. A sense that they understand each other more than they ever let on, if only because Ben’s family has never been one to brag about either. 

“We’ll write her name down,” he decides, pulling out a pin to stick to the bulletin board. “Just in case. Maybe we can talk to her, see if Leslie might've said anything at home to allude to what was going on. Now, Shauna said Leslie  _ saw  _ something, and that's why she's gone. So the motivation… Leslie saw something she wasn't supposed to see, and somebody got pissed. Is there anybody else with a grudge against Leslie, someone who doesn't like her?”

“Well…” Ann shifts in her seat on the floor, pulling her knees up to her chest. She looks at him, but sideways, very cautiously, like she's afraid of what's about to happen. “There's you.”

It hits him like a punch in the gut, or more than that— a twisting knife. “You… what? Do you seriously still think that I might've—”

_ “No!  _ No, no, no, I don't, that's not what…” she sighs, and puts her head in her hands. “I just… I know you didn't like her. But I've been watching you lately, just kind of paying attention, and this really means a lot to you, doesn't it? Finding her, getting her back, figuring out what happened. It means so much to you, even though you didn't like her.”

Ben purses his lips, looking down at his lap and tearing at an empty sheet of paper just for something to do. “It's not that I didn't like her,” he admits, trying to find the words. “Okay, I… I didn't like her for a while. But things changed. Overtime, they kind of changed. Never completely better, but enough. And I was so  _ stupid,  _ I didn't even realize what she meant to me until she was gone. So yeah, this means a lot to me. I want to get her back.”

“And what will you tell her? When we get her back?”

The question makes him pause, curling the sheet of paper in his fist. She's not asking  _ if  _ they'll get her back, but instead presenting the possibility as fact, something that's bound to happen any day now. And it occurs to him that hope,  _ real  _ hope, is infectious— it spreads, one tiny spark into a wildfire. And while one spark won't kill someone… a wildfire is bound to send the whole operation up in flames. He chokes, trying to breathe.

“The truth,” he says.

Ann stares at him for a long time, but she doesn't ask him what the truth is. He's thankful for that, because he doesn't think he could've found it in himself to tell her even if she did ask. It's quiet, for a while, the words hanging in the air, the rest going unspoken. But the subtext is enough. He feels like she  _ knows,  _ if only because Ben has never been good at hiding how he feels. He tries to, he desperately  _ tries _ to, but the cold reality is that he has his heart on his sleeve, and his eyes betray him every time.

But Ann doesn't ask him what the truth is. No, she asks about something maybe much, much worse.

“There was more to your relationship, wasn't there?” she says suddenly, and though it's phrased like a question, he knows it's not, really. “Like I’ve said, I’ve only ever heard Leslie’s side of things. Never yours.”

Ben shrugs, refusing to make eye contact. “I don't even know what she told you.”

“Little things. A couple big stories.”

“Big stories?”

She shifts slightly. “Like, there was this Model UN story.”

Ben groans, putting his head in his hands. Just his luck, really, that Leslie decided to tell Ann  _ that  _ story— it embarrasses him just to think that she knows it, and only from  _ her  _ perspective. “I don't even think I want to know how she told that story.”

“Then tell your story,” she says, tugging on his arm so that she can look at him properly. “I think you need to talk about this more. You can't keep running away from your feelings and the past, no wonder all you feel is regret. Tell  _ your  _ story, and what it meant to you. And for once, be totally and completely vulnerable.  _ Honest.” _

He doesn't want to free himself, and he's terrified that the moment he opens his mouth, everything will come bubbling out of him with reckless abandon. He's not ready yet, not  _ that  _ ready, not enough to completely let her in, not enough for her to know…

But that's what being vulnerable is, right? In order to be vulnerable, you first have to be uncomfortable. You first have to let a little bit of your walls down and allow it to hurt, allow it all to pour out of his system.

He's not sure he wants to hold it in anymore.

***

**SENIOR YEAR**

**FIVE MONTHS BEFORE GRADUATION**

Palms slammed on tables, voices turned to yelling, insults were exchanged, and once again Ben started to wonder if being in Model UN was even worth it.

He didn't even know what they were arguing about anymore. They were so far from the original point that they were spinning in circles, pointing fingers and casting blame, and he couldn't even hear himself anymore. It was  _ sad,  _ just sad, and it infuriated him that his all-time favorite club had become a mess like this, all because he and Leslie couldn't keep themselves from fighting.

And this fight felt  _ different.  _ Nobody's words meant a single goddamn thing— it was all about one-upping the other and seeing just how mad they could make each other. They were both standing, every student watching them, papers and flags flying, treaties being torn up, a hush over the crowd.

“I have a right to be mad!” Leslie hissed, taking one step closer to them. Mr. Newport sat at the front of the classroom, head in his hands, as if trying to see how long he could ignore what was right in front of him. He was looking older lately, as if students like Ben and Leslie had completely and utterly worn him down. But both were too focused to even notice. “You wrote me out of the treaty!”

“Maybe if you had been paying more  _ attention  _ to the treaty, you wouldn't have been written out of it,” Ben told her, brandishing a piece of paper— the treaty in question. “But  _ no,  _ you were too busy gallivanting around, trading with other countries, even when I warned you—”

“You couldn't have just  _ waited?  _ God, you're selfish, you just wanted to write me out of it because you hate me—”

“God, don't be obtuse, not everything is about you—”

_ “Okay,”  _ Mr. Newport called out, his voice rising above theirs. “Okay, that's my cue to put a stop to this. The two of you really need to get your act together—”

“I think  _ Ben  _ needs to get his act together, I agree—”

“Leslie,” he snapped, giving her a look, and she instantly paled, realizing her choice of words.

“Sorry, Mr. Newport,” she mumbled, sounding genuinely ashamed to have upset him, while still shooting Ben a death glare when Newport looked away.

“The two of you haven't been arguing this much in months, what's going on here?” Newport asked, looking between the two of them. Ben shoved his hands in his pockets and stared at the floor. “You were working well together, getting along—”

“Well, we don't anymore,” Ben said, beating Leslie to it. “Maybe because she was too busy to involve herself with the treaty.”

_ “Oh,  _ you  _ jerk,  _ you absolute—”

_ “Okay, enough.”  _ Newport stood between them, his hands out, and the entire Model UN club was watching, even if they were pretending not to. “How about the two of you take a little break, okay? Go for a walk. A breather, away from each other. Can we do that?”

“Fine,” they both said together, before spinning on their heels and glaring at each other as they walked out the door. It slammed shut behind them, and as soon as it did, Leslie whirled on him again, even with his back turned, expecting to walk away.

“You did that on purpose,” she said, pointing her finger, and Ben just sighed. “Admit it, jerk, you knew what you were doing, you just wanted to get a rise out of me.”

“Weird, I thought we were supposed to be taking a breather  _ alone,”  _ he retaliated, walking off down the hallway. “I wasn't aware that involved shouting at each other.”

Of course, she followed him. And he had no idea where he was going, opting to just continue walking and hope for the best. “Oh, get off your high horse, Wyatt, you're no better than I am.”

“And yet you're the one following me. What's your problem anyway?”

“What's  _ my  _ problem?” she shrieked, right as he turned out of the hallway to the back of the school, the empty locker rooms. “You're the one that wrote me out of the treaty out of nowhere. I've  _ tried  _ to be civil, tried to be good to you—”

“Oh, you've tried to be good to me? Is that it?” It was enough now to make him spin around to face her, and she was right on his tail, needing to take a step back as soon as he turned. They were outside now, the empty boys’ locker room starting to sound like a great escape plan. “How the hell have you ever been  _ good  _ to me?”

She glared at him, puffing out her chest and standing straight up, unafraid, trying to reach her full height. “Plenty of times,” she said. Her voice dropped, much lower now, and a chill ran down his spine. Suddenly this argument had a very, very different undertone. “I kissed you once.”

Ben sucked in a breath, his body tensing. “What… a spin the bottle kiss? That meant nothing?”

“Did it?” she breathed, with a wicked smirk, and he swallowed hard. “I think you liked it.”

It was the way she grinned at him, maybe, something evil, or the way she bit her bottom lip, her tongue sneaking out to slide across it. Maybe it was the way she said it so knowingly, like she read his mind, with a raspy voice one would save for the bedroom. Or maybe it was the way she kept stepping toward him until her chest was pressed to his, her winter clothing suddenly leaving far too much to the imagination. Her eyes flickered up to meet his, and he knew he was a goner.

Ben shifted uncomfortably and shoved his hands in his pockets, hoping to god that his long coat would hide the tenting of his pants.  _ Goddammit,  _ goddammit, right as she was yelling at him. Right as she was riling herself up and getting in his face, and now he kind of wanted her to yell again just to feel something, wanting to grab her by the waist, hike up her thigh, and have her feel him pressed right to her center, just so  _ she knew exactly what she did to him.  _

He had to get out of here.

“I don't need this,” he gasped, hating to be the first to break their eye contact, but he didn't really have a choice anymore. He shoved past her, pushing her away, making a beeline for the boys' locker room. The heavy door slammed shut behind him as he travelled deeper inside, resting his head on a locker and taking a moment to breathe.

He shifted and pulled at his pant leg, praying to god the erection would go down without him having to do anything. He would take a cold shower if he had to, there was no one around to witness his shame, and right as he was about to undo his belt buckle, the locker room door slammed open and shut again.

Tiny footsteps pounded over to him, and he didn't even have time to hide. She was here, red faced and full of fury, hair flying around her head, looking for all the world like she was about to murder someone.

“Leslie, what the  _ fuck—” _

_ “You  _ don't need this? Excuse me? You think you can just walk out and avoid this conversation, Wyatt?” she hissed at him, and he kept backing up as she walked towards him, not stopping until his back was pressed against the lockers. “Don't hide from it, I know exactly how you feel right now.”

This wasn't at all helping his situation, especially not as she was right up on him again, keeping him pressed to the lockers, and he  _ knew,  _ right then and there, that she could feel exactly what she was doing to him. And she definitely knew she had the upper hand here.

“What do you mean?” he asked, feigning innocence, but he choked on the words. “I don't… what conversation?”

“You like this,” she whispered, so different compared to her yelling, and yet somehow much scarier. “You liked that kiss last year, and you like this. I don't know why. But you're into this. It's not my fault.”

_ It very much is your fault.  _ He bit his lip to keep himself from saying something he would regret, but his body did it all for him— she quirked a brow at him, and he knew damn well his erection was currently pressing against her thigh. “It's nothing,” he insisted again, shaking his head. “Maybe you're just into this. Maybe you're projecting.  _ You  _ like this, don't you?” He could feel himself snapping, pushing his body against hers as if fighting her back, staring down at her. “Did you think of me after that kiss, when you were in bed alone?”

Her face went bright red—  _ got her.  _ “Stop it.”

“Did you stick your hand down your pants and think of me?” He poked her shoulder, testing her stability, and she stumbled, slightly. “Do you wish I would kiss you right now? Oh, or maybe you want  _ me  _ to stick my hand down your pants—”

_ “Shut up,”  _ she hissed, covering the unmistakable sound of a tiny little whimper, something to prove that this wasn't one-sided, not by any means. She even covered her mouth momentarily, realizing she had exposed herself, before pushing back at him, eyes hard. “Shut up, shut up,  _ shut up—” _

“Make me.”

It slipped from his mouth, something seemingly innocent and yet so very inviting, and it was all the permission she needed. She didn't say one more word, didn't even take a moment to breathe before getting to work, wasting absolutely no time in slipping her fingers to his belt and snapping it undone, tugging it from its loops. And Ben found himself frozen, everything moving so quickly as he became instantly undone, his palms flat on the lockers behind him.

Leslie fell to her knees in front of him, and he knew then what was about to happen before she even reached for his zipper— and all he could manage to do was gasp.

She tugged his jeans down his legs and then his boxers in quick fashion, his cock springing free, and it was absolutely embarrassing how utterly clear his arousal was, fully hard in front of her, and it seemed to surprise her so much that for a moment, she just stared, eyes wide, Ben shaking under her touch.

Frankly, he had never wanted something more.

“Leslie—” he gasped, unable to help himself, but she cut him off quick.

_ “Shut up,”  _ she hissed under her breath, and it was just the push she needed. He opened his mouth to say something else, but all that came out was a strangled groan as her tongue met his dick, sealing her lips over the shaft, her fingernails digging into his thighs for support.

_ “Fuck,”  _ he whispered, slamming his palm back against the locker, uncaring about the noise. “Fuck, I…”

Leslie was relentless, and she was absolutely no tease. She wasn't here to torture him with slow, methodical strokes, edging just on enough but never giving more. No, she aimed to send him over the edge, that much was very clear. She bobbed her head up and down on his cock at an almost cruel pace, quick enough that he was building fast, his brain going fuzzy, and all he could think about was  _ her. _

He didn't think she would, but she let his hands slide into her hair, gripping a fistful of blonde locks to keep himself upright, to push himself deeper into her, groaning whenever he felt himself hit the back of her throat. Goddammit, she was  _ good  _ at this, way too good, and it was all he could do to hold on and not make a total fool out of himself by finishing way too quickly.

He gripped her hair like his life depended on it, his knees weak, wincing and throwing his head back, trying to find his control. She slid off him with a  _ pop  _ of her lips, pressing just her tongue to the tip, before her nails left his thigh and her fingers wrapped around the base of his cock. Her hands were so soft, and so small, and he couldn't lie— he had thought about this before. On lonely, shameful nights when he would come home angry after another fight with her in the hallway or in class, when his only relief was his right hand and an overactive imagination.

One that he never told anyone about, because he didn't even want to think it of himself. He spent years of his life insisting he didn't even find Leslie Knope attractive, that she wasn't his type, just to completely succumb to her when her lips touched his skin. It wasn't supposed to be like this, but here he was, moaning like a desperate animal as she jerked him off, and all he could think was that  _ it was better than he ever imagined it.  _

She pushed him back against the lockers, slamming him there, but he didn't even care, because her lips were back on him and working alongside her hand, twisting and sliding up and down, pushing the hair out of her face as she deep-throated him, reveling in the way she took complete control over him so easily. And he brought this on himself, just by saying  _ make me. _

“Oh god,” he gasped, finding it difficult to speak.  _ “Fuck,  _ oh god, Leslie, I'm gonna—”

She sped up at his words, understanding enough, and he actually  _ whined  _ with the progression of it all. He knew it was a pipe dream, totally out of the question, but part of him wanted to wait to finish, to pull her up and kiss her, taste himself on her lips, and bend her over the locker room bench. He wanted to touch every inch of her skin and watch her face scrunch up and hear her moan, just as vulnerable as he is now.

But it's fine, he decided. If he finished now, he could still make it up to her.

His whole body shook as she descended on him, and he knew he was done for. With just one last single flick of her tongue, his cock down her throat, his orgasm hit him all at once like a bag of bricks. It was a punch in the gut, a strangled cry, eyes squeezed shut, both hands gripping the sides of her head like a lifeline. He came in her mouth, shoved in up to the hilt, gasping as he released, trying to even his breaths.

Leslie swallowed, pulling herself off of him as he tried to compose himself. He released his grip on her in favor of pressing his hands to his heart, and then on his knees to hold himself up, feeling as if his life must've left his body for a moment. Her lips were swollen and wet with him, wiping her face with her arm, getting up off her knees with a satisfied grin on her face.

There was no doubt about it— she absolutely succeeded in shutting him up.

He barely took a moment to fully calm himself down before he reached for her, moving for her hips, having every intention of pressing  _ her  _ against the lockers and burying himself between her legs. His fingers reached for the button of her jeans and just barely got a tug in before he was pushed back, slamming back against the locker with a force that made his back ache.

_ “No,”  _ Leslie commanded, her palm lying flat on his chest, shoving him completely off of her.  _ “No.  _ You don't get to touch me, Wyatt. You don't deserve to touch me.”

She released him then, backing up and spinning on her heels. She wiped her cheek once more for extra measure and popped the thumb into her mouth, sucking gently, letting go with a  _ pop,  _ before straightening out her unruly hair and leaving the locker room with a single look back at him.

One thing was clear, as Ben stood in the empty locker room with shaky knees and his pants at his ankles— Leslie Knope had absolutely won this round.

***

**PRESENT DAY**

He keeps the story brief, and just vague enough for a girl who's really only just become his friend, someone who doesn't need to know the intimate details of his sexual life. But he tells her, without holding back, exactly what it meant to him, and how that day he realized—  _ truly  _ realized— that Leslie Knope was something more than just a rival. Something more than someone he liked to argue with to get his kicks.

Back then, he didn't know entirely what she was yet. Just that something had shifted, maybe even long before their moment in the locker room. Maybe even before their senior year of high school.

It means something to Ann, that much is obvious. She listens to him intently, nodding at the right times, never interrupting him. She twists her hands in her lap and breathes deeply, and when he finishes his story, she's silent for a long time.

“She thought you really hated her, you know,” Ann says, so delicate that he almost doesn't hear her. “She would… sometimes she would cry to me because she thought you hated her so much. I would hold her and make her chocolate chip cookies and tell her men are dogs.” She laughs, just softly, almost nervously, and he can tell she's right on the edge of some sort of confession. “It hurt her a lot. She would wonder what was wrong with her, sometimes.”

But this makes no sense to Ben, because she hated him just as much. Leslie despised Ben, and took every opportunity to tell him exactly that. “Wait,” he mumbles. “So… so you're saying that she…”

“She didn't hate you,” she cries. “She definitely didn't hate you.”

“She must have at some point though, right? I mean, we fought for years—”

“She really didn't like you the first two years, no. But something… changed, I don't know. Sometime around junior year, after your spin-the-bottle kiss at Tom's party. And then a couple months later, she had your number memorized.”

“She never called me,” he recalls. “She asked for my number to make sure I would get home safe. But then she didn't—”

“She wanted to,” Ann promises. “She really wanted to. That one was on me, actually. I kind of refused to let her put your number in her phone.”

They both laugh then, and even though they try their hardest to make it count, it sounds empty, hollow, like two bad actors who can't even pretend to love what they're doing. And they fall silent again, the laughter dying on their lips, the sad smiles fading.

“She could never hate you,” Ann whispers. “I don't think she had it in her.”

He understands Ann, then, and all her protectiveness, how long it took her to tell Ben even this much. She's fiercely loyal to her best friend even now, taking her time to make sure he's not a complete asshole who just wanted to use Leslie before she spilled her feelings, before she told him how Leslie really and truly felt at the end of the day. Ben can't be mad. He wants to tell her as much, even, to break the eerie silence, when Ann’s front door opens.

They both spin their heads around from their spots on the living room floor to find Ann’s mother walking in, a bag of groceries in one hand and her tiny phone in the other, staring blankly down at it as if shocked into silence.

“Hey, Mom,” Ann greets her, getting up on her knees to better see her. “What's wrong? Why are you—”

“Oh, Ann,” her mother sighs, shoving her phone aside and looking at her daughter with wide eyes. “And Ben, hi.”

“Uh, hi Mrs. Perkins. Is everything okay?”

The woman fiddles with her grocery bag, clearly on the edge of something big that she's unsure she wants to spill, unsure that she wants to be the bearer of bad news. “God, I didn't want to tell you two—”

_ “Mom,”  _ Ann interrupts immediately, her face paling. “What happened? What happened—”

“The news only just came out, I just saw…” She shakes, and Ben and Ann both stand, too scared to do anything but look at this woman. Ben knows, even before he hears it, that a bomb is about to drop, and he can feel his heart in the pit of his stomach, tearing itself into tiny pieces so he can never feel again.

“They're dropping her case,” Mrs. Perkins rushes out. “Leslie’s case. The police just put out a statement that they're halting all investigation from this moment on.”

And Ben’s not sure if his mind has gone blank or if he's completely passed out, but suddenly, everything goes dark.


	13. Chapter 13

**JUNIOR YEAR**

Ben was very adamant this year that Leslie having a boyfriend meant absolutely nothing to him.

Of course, when Leslie was dating Mark Brendanawicz, that didn't mean anything to him either. He  _ totally  _ didn't care, not even a little bit, not even when they kissed. And this time should be no different, because he made a pact to himself last year— he wouldn't get involved in Leslie's love life again, not after he put a hit on himself by inserting himself in the middle of her breakup with Mark.

It didn't matter that Dave Sanderson was nicer, if a little bit slow. It didn't matter that he didn't share any of Leslie’s interests, or that he was the son of the police chief, and he had a pair of handcuffs in his locker because he wanted to be a cop just like his dad. It didn't matter that Ben was terrified of cops, didn't matter that Leslie and Dave kissed in the hallways, didn't matter that they broke up in a flurry of tears and unmistakable drama.

It certainly didn't matter that Ben had already kissed Leslie once, at Tom’s party much earlier in the year, or that he gave Leslie his phone number after a drunken conversation just two months ago. And maybe Ben thought about those things a lot, even in bed. Just maybe.

But Ben didn't care. The kiss meant nothing, she never even called him, and they were still rivals at the end of the day. He didn't care that she fled into the girls' bathroom with tears in her eyes, or that Dave started carrying his handcuffs in his backpack instead. It was simple breakup drama, it would pass.

“Dude, he's going totally crazy,” Andy said on the way to class one day, flailing his arms over his head for emphasis. “April keeps telling me what's going on because she's kinda friends with Leslie. Apparently Dave keeps, like, telling dudes to stay away from Leslie.”

Ben grimaced at this, and tightened the straps on his bag. “Andy, I really don't think I wanna hear…”

“Like, he keeps threatening to pull out his handcuffs and that he'll lock them to a pipe in the bathroom if they talk to Leslie. He says Leslie still loves him and stuff.”

Ben couldn't help it— he asked. “Well, does she?”

“Nah, April said Leslie never loved him at all,” Andy said, and Ben pretended very hard not to care about this information. “But apparently Dave cornered her and told her he still loves her. Wants to get back together with her.”

“Good lord, he's obsessive,” Ben mumbled, shaking his head as they turned in the hallway, the bell ringing for class. “Is he really gonna act like that much of a crybaby over a breakup?”

“I dunno, dude, he's going wild. Pretty sure he might actually punch someone, or get a guy thrown in jail if they even look at Leslie.”

Ben considered that, imagining a tear stained Leslie that he had seen earlier that day, before parting ways with Andy with a small wave. And it was terrible, so so terrible of him, maybe, but he felt  _ bad.  _ All he could do was say he shouldn't, that he should move on and stay away from this affair, but something in him just couldn't. There was a small part of him that still shuddered at the memory of her lips on his, the feel of her hip at his fingertips, a piece of him that just  _ couldn't let this go, goddammit. _

So when he walked into his classroom and saw her sitting in the back instead of her usual front seat, her head in her hands, he did the unthinkable. He sat next to her.

She didn't move for a second, just oddly still as if she were sleeping. He set his bag down to the floor and tried his best to act nonchalant, setting up his notebook and his pens for the start of class, as if he wasn't doing anything out of the ordinary at all. It was just enough noise, just enough to get her to shift, her head falling to the side. Her eyes widened at the sight of them, and he noticed they looked puffy and red, clearly not okay, sniffling as she wiped her face with her fist.

“Oh,” she mumbled, clearly unsure how to greet him. For a moment, Ben thought she would yell, tell him to get away and not make things worse, but she didn't. It was possible she was just too exhausted. “Hi.”

“Hi,” he echoed, and for some reason he smiled. He felt no reason to pretend, no reason to hide his intentions in choosing to sit next to her. She had enough to deal with, and he didn't particularly feel like adding to it just then. “You're not looking so great.”

She rolled her eyes, staring at her empty desk now instead of him. “You don't even know.”

“I know some of it. I know enough, probably. Did you really think this school was big enough that I would miss some breakup gossip?”

“You shouldn't even be talking to me. I don't know why you are.”

Ben shrugged. “I won't lie to you. I don't know either. But I'm here, and I'm not going anywhere, so.”

Leslie glared at him sideways, peeking at him from behind her hair. “Sure you wanna stick to that? You don't wanna be seen with me right now, Dave might handcuff you in a bathroom or call his dad on you, didn't you hear that part?”

And though he shuddered inwardly at the idea, for some reason it didn't repulse him as much as it should've, as much as it did earlier. He stayed glued to his chair, his eyes on her, watching as she tried not to cry again.

“I don't care about that,” he told her, and she perked up, clearly not expecting that answer. “I mean, I'm actually kind of…  _ deathly afraid of cops,  _ but I don't care. Let Dave come for me. You should probably stay safe though, because if you're gone, I don't have any other rivals to argue with.”

Her reaction was slow, gradual, as if it was taking a very long time for this response to process in her brain. But as it did, she actually started to smile in return, some color added to her cheeks, something so genuine in the way she looked at him that it made Ben’s gut churn. 

This was very delicate.

“You mean that?” she whispered, as if afraid he might take it all back, or laugh in her face for even daring to think it. “You'll stay?”

Ben didn't even hesitate. “Of course I'll stay.”

Those words held more meaning than they should have, more than they meant for them to. It was like a commitment, then, something unsaid between them both, an odd feeling that something had just changed. They both shifted in their seats, trying not to think of that night they kissed each other, and Leslie’s face burned red.

“Well,” she said, looking him in the eye now, “you shouldn't be afraid of cops. They're unprofessional and they're bastards. You should hate them more than anything.”

Ben grinned cheekily at the malice in her voice, the passion with which she called cops bastards. “If you hate cops, why were you dating the Chief’s son? He wants to be a cop.”

“It's a long story.”

Class started, a long and boring lecture that most times only Leslie could pay attention to. But today was different. Today she had broken up with her boyfriend and her enemy had chosen to sit next to her. Today she and Ben had chosen civility. 

“We've got time,” he whispered to her, way in the back of the class. And there it was again— her smile.

“I don't even know why you wanna know,” she mumbled, lightly scratching the edge of her desk. “It's not interesting. I started dating Dave because he said he liked me, and he wanted to bring me coffee, and… and he was nice.”

Ben rose a brow, clearly not buying it. “That's all? Just because he asked you and he was nice? I mean, come on, did you even like him? He seems to be under the impression that you're in love with him.”

“Oh god,” she sighed, head in her hands again. “You heard about that?”

“I hear about a lot of things, Knope.”

“I just… fine. Okay, fine. I decided to go out with him because I thought it would be a nice distraction.”

This made Ben pause, and something almost like fear bubbled in his chest. “What, a distraction from Student Council workload?”

“No,” she breathed, looking down. “I… no. A distraction from someone else. There was this guy I like, I guess, but he doesn't like me back. And I knew that. So I just… tried to ignore it.”

It struck him, really, that this was a very vulnerable Leslie Knope. He was no complete stranger to this, or her tears, but there was something new here. Something almost confessional, deep enough to reserve for a close friend and certainly not an enemy. The last time he had seen her even remotely like this was Tom’s party a few months ago, where they sat out on the back patio and talked about their parents. She rushed to leave then, and she looks absolutely ready to bolt now.

“Well,” he asked, “did you ever even tell him you like him?”

Leslie pursed her lips and looked at him again, her eyes dark. He worried for a moment if he overstepped, if he should back out now before both of them did something they would regret, but nothing happened. She just sighed, studying him gently, and shook her head. “No,” she said. “No, I can't.”

“Then how do you know he doesn't like you back?”

She shut her eyes tight. “I just know.”

***

**PRESENT DAY**

Ben and Ann don't even give Mrs. Perkins any time to react before they're leaping up off the floor and grabbing Ann’s car keys. Ben hops in the passenger seat while typing furiously at his phone, updating both Andy and Tom, scheduling times to meet with the group again to go over their new findings.

But first, the police department.

Ann drives with a little too much reckless abandon, taking shortcuts and cutting corners, her jaw set and something dangerous in her eyes. He's seen her like this before, of course, but always only directed at him. Always when Leslie needs defending, when Ben needs knocked down a peg, when he would go a little too far in fighting her.

But it's amplified now, some kind of fury that terrifies him, and he pities whatever man finds himself in Ann Perkins’ warpath. She's set to kill, set to knock some heads together, and Ben’s never been more grateful to have her on his side, on his  _ team.  _

“What are we gonna do?” he asks her, looking away from his phone to check their location. Three minutes away. “I mean, how are we gonna fix this?”

“By beating some cops into the ground,” Ann hisses, and it's said with enough malice that Ben doesn't question at all how genuine she is— he even kind of fears her.

The car is barely in park before they're both slamming the doors, running up to the station, palms slapping flat against the front desk. They're nothing but a couple of sweaty, angry eighteen-year-olds with a bone to pick, which should be ignored any day of the week, but it's obvious that these guys  _ know.  _ They take one look at Ben and Ann and they know exactly what they've come for, exactly why they're angry, and exactly who they want to see.

“Where's—”

“Chief Sanderson is on his lunch break,” one woman says, cutting over Ben instantly. She’s wary, rocking back and forth on her feet, and she keeps glancing at the office door. “I'm sure whatever it is can wait—”

_ “It can't,”  _ Ann cries, slamming her palm again. “Bring him out now, or I’ll yell. I'm serious, I will do it.”

“She really will,” Ben adds, noting their skeptical faces. “I once saw her steal the mic from the DJ at a party so she could yell at everyone in the room.”

The cop considers this for a moment, opening and closing her mouth. “I really don't think this is necessary—”

_ “SANDERSON!”  _ Ann screams, so piercing and so sudden that even Ben flinches, his hands shooting up to cover his ears.  _ “SANDERSON, GET OUT HERE AND ANSWER FOR YOUR CRIMES, ASSWIPE—” _

The office door opens, and despite the fact that it's what they wanted, it's so surprising that it cuts Ann short, the scream dying in her throat. Chief Sanderson stands in his doorway, bags under his eyes, a hand reaching up to rub his temple. Despite it all, despite the clear irritation, he's not shocked in the slightest. No, he's resigned, shuffling closer until he can get a better look at them.

“Wyatt,” he greets. “Perkins. I'm right to assume why you're here?”

“You dropped her case,” Ann says, still red-faced and trembling, her hands in fists. “There was information everywhere, and you actually fucking  _ dropped her case.” _

“There wasn't information everywhere—”

“There was if you were competent enough to see it! It was everywhere! It still is! But you're getting outsmarted by  _ very recent high school graduates  _ every single day. Do you have any idea how embarrassing you look right now?”

Chief Sanderson takes a deep breath as she speaks, trying to compose himself, holding a hand up. “Miss Perkins, if you'd let me finish—”

“No,” Ben cuts in before even Ann can. “No, no. You don't get to talk to her like that. Don't brush her aside, she's right. And I know exactly why you're dropping Leslie’s case.”

Even Ann looks surprised to hear this, both her and the Chief spinning around and exclaiming,  _ “What?”  _ at the exact same time. Ben shrugs as if it's completely obvious.

“This has to do with Dave, doesn't it?” he accuses, and Ann gasps, cupping her hand to her mouth with the sudden epiphany. “Your son, Dave. You're hiding something. And it's because of him.”

Chief Sanderson switches instantly from a resigned look to a defensive one, standing straighter and putting his hands to his belt. “Are you accusing my son of kidnapping that girl—”

“No,” Ann breathes, understanding now. “No, no, but you are hiding something, aren't you? I know you talked to Leslie after she broke up with Dave."

Now it's Ben’s turn to act surprised. “Wait, what? You talked to Leslie?”

“He did. Dave was so upset and getting absolutely deranged with the power handcuffs gave him. Leslie told me Dave and his dad came to her house. I was told the Chief gave her a  _ very  _ stern talk about upsetting his son.”

“It was just a fatherly talk, because I'm protective over my son,” the Chief says, looking a little worried now, even embarrassed. “I was upset because he was so ruined over the breakup. That's no reason for my family to ever—”

“You're dropping the case because you don't care where she is,” Ben says, as if the realization has hit him. He says it like a fact, to scare him more than anything, despite the fact that he doesn't know if any of this at all is true or just their fears talking. “You don't care about finding her, so you've been lazy about it. All because your dumbass kid couldn't handle a breakup—”

_ “That's enough!”  _ Chief Sanderson yells suddenly, and the entire room freezes. There's something there, when a cop yells, that strikes fear not just in Ben’s heart, but something that forces you to stop. Maybe it's the power he holds, far too much of it, as they can now see. “You don't get to waltz in here and accuse me and my family of crimes we didn't commit. There's a real and genuine reason we’re dropping this case— but maybe you need to find out for yourself. I shouldn't be the one to tell you.”

“What are you talking about?” Ann asks, leaning forward so far that Ben has to hold her back. “What do you mean? What's the reason, what happened?—”

“Go home, both of you.  _ Now.” _

Neither of them particularly want to, feeling that there's so much left to say and learn, but their nerves are fried and Ben has already set up a second meeting with their group of friends. He has a text from Tom stating that he's gathered everyone in his backyard again, ready whenever they are, and it's the only thing that's really holding Ben together— the possibility of validation.

“Let's just go,” he tells Ann, dragging her out by her elbow. “We’ll deal with this, I  _ promise.  _ But first we have to tell our friends.”

_ “Jen,”  _ she whispers suddenly, her eyes glazing over, and Ben nods.

“Yeah, Jen is waiting for you. So let's get to Tom’s place, okay? Tom’s place.”

Ann is so angry and frustrated at this point that Ben steals her keys and opts to drive instead, while she stares out the passenger seat window. They're quiet for a while, their anger simmering under the surface, remaining just close enough to come back to whenever they need it. It's enough to make the air feel fragile, the tension between them edging closer and closer to shattered glass.

“What are we gonna do?” Ann says out of nowhere, tracing patterns with her finger on the car window.

“I really don't know,” Ben answers honestly. He's past the point of being able to lie for even his own sake.

“It just… it feels hopeless. And I really thought we had something. We were doing  _ so good,  _ Ben.”

He thinks of their notebooks and bulletin boards, enough binders to make Leslie proud. He thinks of late night calls and group meetings and somehow becoming best friends with this girl who he barely even spoke to in high school, just because they all of a sudden have a loss in common. They grieve together and they work together, just to see it all fall apart together. They really did have hope, for just a moment, bundled between them and keeping them warm. And now they're watching it slowly fizzle out.

On the other side, it's just a deep, bitter cold.

“We were,” he admits. “It felt… very close to something concrete.”

“We can't do this on our own, can we? I guess I just always thought… I thought that when we compiled enough evidence we would bring it to the cops and finish out the investigation. Find out who did it, figure out where they are, and bring Leslie back.”

She's still not looking at him as she speaks, and they feel very oddly disconnected. “I thought Swanson said not to go to the police, though.”

Ann groans and pushes against the car window. “Okay, well, I kind of assumed we would tell Swanson  _ and  _ the cops, because more backup is better than nothing. But considering the school was working with the Pawnee Police Department, I don't see either being much help right now.”

Ben considers Ron, and the battles he would fight for Leslie, and he wonders if truthfully, deep down, this is one battle the man would be willing to die for. If Leslie meant just enough that he would sit in the trenches and take his shots, fight even if he falls down, push back even if he's bleeding out. How far does his loyalty go?

Is this worth a call?

He thinks of Ron’s phone number sitting comfortably in his brain, burning a hole in his pocket, just begging to be used.  _ Once they have enough information.  _ Once they feel there's a path clear enough to walk across. And it's not much, but it warms Ben just slightly, like some tiny spirit of Leslie inside him, telling him that if nothing else works out, at least there's still this. At least there's still Ron.

They pull up to Tom’s house, and the energy in the backyard is significantly different than that of the car ride. Ben and Ann stumble to the back, heads down with their hands in their pockets, to be met with casual chatter and little spatters of laughter. Andy and April are giggling over something together, Donna is threatening Jean-Ralphio, and Tom is reaching for snacks. Jen leaps up from her chair as soon as they cross the gate to throw her arms around Ann, pressing a very long and drawn-out kiss to her lips without a care in the world for PDA. 

“Oh, Annie, baby,” she whispers, reaching around to cup the back of Ann’s neck, smoothing her hair. “You look like a mess, I was calling you, where were you? I thought you were just at your house with Wyatt?”

“I was,” Ann chokes. “But my mom came home, and we got some news.”

“So it's true?” Tom jumps in, clapping Ben on the back. His knees buckle. “I read something about dropping Leslie’s case, but I didn't wanna believe it.”

“It's true,” Ben confirms, just loud enough, and everyone stops in their tracks to stare and listen. “Ann and I went right to the police station. Leslie’s case is totally dropped.”

The entire group erupts with outrage, shouting obscenities and throwing fists in the air. There's shouts to storm the station again from April, with Andy offering to join in as Burt Macklin, Jean-Ralphio and Tom insisting they'll knock some heads around. Donna shouts that the police are out of her mind and she’ll be looking up their names right away, pulling out her phone to start searching. Jen just holds Ann as she cries into her shoulder, whispering to each other, keeping each other held together, even if only by a thread.

And Ben stares. He watches this group of people that have so far been his support system, people that he didn't even necessarily get along with or care about for years, suddenly the most important people to him. Without them, without his team, and especially people like Ann and even Tom and Andy, he's not sure where he would be. Very lonely, curled up in his bed at home, taken captive by nightmares of blonde hair and bloodstains.

He starts to tear up a little just thinking about his sudden love for these people, and the tiny flame of hope held close to heart that only exists in the first place because of them. 

It's the first time he allows himself to think, looking over at them as they shout, that it might actually end up okay in the end. This might not be the tragic ending he's been expecting all along.  _ He can do this. _

_ Ben can get Leslie back. _

And so suddenly, from nowhere at all, something shifts, and everyone quiets. There's tears coming that aren't from Ann, who has stilled in Jen’s arms, slowly coming up to find the new source as well.

It could've been anyone, really, but the real answer is the least expected. The truth is that they find Donna weeping into her hands, her phone screen on and trembling in her fist. It could've been anyone, but something about Donna’s tears sends chills down their spines, a fearful feeling so intense that Ben knows, before anything is confirmed at all, that something has gone  _ terribly, terribly wrong. _

“Donna?” Ben whispers, having difficulty finding his voice. “Donna, what's wrong?”

Her phone is open up on a breaking news article, something just released, with bright red headlines and words in all caps. There's a picture there, too fuzzy to make out from across the way, but there's a flash of yellow and he knows,  _ he knows. _

And it's funny, really, that when you light a candle flame, it can burn for so long despite it being so small. It can light up a room for hours on end, slowly chipping away at the wax, carefully warming Ben’s heart. He guards his little candle flame of hope, hidden as if to protect it, allowing it to quietly burn with unwavering perseverance. 

But it's also funny that just the slightest wind, the blink of an eye, one wrong move can  _ wink  _ that flame right out of existence, leaving nothing but the smell of smoke to linger and the pitch black emptiness he can't claw himself out of this time.

“Breaking news,” April reads, grabbing Donna’s phone as she collapses, “Eighteen-year-old  _ missing person  _ Leslie Knope has been pronounced dead.” 

The flame is gone.  


And that was Ben’s very last candle.


	14. Chapter 14

**SENIOR YEAR**

**THREE MONTHS BEFORE GRADUATION**

She wouldn't stop looking at him.

She sat across the way in the auditorium, mostly staring straight ahead, same as him. But every so often, when she thought Ben wasn't looking, her eyes would slip over to him, her brow furrowed, and it was impossible to tell what she was feeling or why she was doing it.

Either way, it scared Ben. His sweaty palms shook and rubbed on the thighs of his jeans, trying not to think of her eyes or the way she bit her lip. She was distracting him, goddammit, and today was an important day. He absolutely had to win this debate, with half the school watching, in order to look good for college, to prove he wasn't a total loser in front of Eagleton High School’s debate team. But everytime he saw her lately, all he could think of was her, the feel of her lips, on her knees, his hands in her hair.

She won that day because ever since then, Ben has been addicted.

Actually, Leslie had sort of been haunting him without even meaning to. He saw her everywhere. In the hallways, in his dreams, when he closed his eyes, in his bed. And maybe it would all be a little bit more bearable if he even so much as knew what this was. He and Leslie were rivals. They’d been fighting everyday damn day since the first day of freshman year, and it was all they knew. They could try and make things better, try and make things work, but they fell apart every time.

He was just waiting for it to happen again, a ticking time bomb.

They were all dressed nicely for the occasion, their friends all here to support them. The lead teacher for their debate club, Mr. Newport, was running back and forth frantically behind the scenes, bags under his eyes and his tie loose. Microphones and tables were being set up, notes shuffled, whispered conversations on their debate topics and their players. Leslie wasn't on today, but as part of the team, she was still here to watch Ben— to distract him, to ruin him, even.

He had her to impress more than anyone. If he crashed and burned in front of her today, he didn't think he could ever look her in the eye again.

Mr. Newport tapped the microphone and the crowd fell silent, whispering falling away until everyone was looking forward. He smiled weakly, shifting nervously under the spotlight, and cleared his throat. “Pawnee High School, welcome Eagleton High to our school today for our sixth annual Debate Club showdown. I'd like to ask you all to show your utmost respect to those up on the stage. That includes turning your cell phones off, listening intently, and no interruptions or speaking out of turn.” There was a shuffle as students went to put their phones away, a couple grumbling under their breath. “Today we welcome from Eagleton, Ingrid De Forest, and from Pawnee, Benjamin Wyatt.”

There was an outbreak of applause as they both stood, coming up to the stage together. Ingrid was clearly a very well put together opponent. She wore a fitted dress and jewels and looked far too rich to step foot in Pawnee, which might've explained the scrunched up look on her face, as if she had smelled something rancid. Ben faced her on the stage and shook her hand, where she let go much too quickly, shaking her hand out afterwards.

The debate topic was a simple, easy one. Pawnee and Eagleton had been keeping each other at arm's length for years, so today’s objective? Explain what made their town better. What made their town worth living in, as if trying to sell an Indiana newcomer to the area.

So, fine. Fine. Ben could do that. Ben could absolutely sell this goddamn town that he’s hated most his life.

Ingrid started off very strong. Eagleton citizens had more wealth, bigger homes, better food, and a healthier lifestyle. They didn't have to worry about raccoons and litter and greasy burgers and they even had celebrities on retainer and  _ palm trees,  _ somehow. Ingrid made Pawnee out to be nothing but a dirty, trashy town that ruined people, brainwashed them, a nightmare you can't wake up from, and for some reason, something in Ben’s gut bubbled and he didn't feel very good at all.

No, he felt  _ angry. _

Because how dare they speak that way about Pawnee? How dare they look at these people and call them weirdos, call them stupid, make them out to be anything less than passionate about the things that matter to them? His heart swelled with something that felt an awful lot like pride, and he was practically seething by the time he reached the microphone for his turn.

When he looked out into the crowd, Leslie wasn't looking at him anymore. She was staring at her lap, her shoulders gently trembling, and he could tell she was fighting between anger and sadness over Ingrid’s words. It was just a debate, but this little town meant  _ everything  _ to Leslie. She lived and breathed Pawnee.

And what was Pawnee, really, but an extension of Leslie Knope?

“While Eagleton sits up on their hill and looks down on Pawnee, at least we know one town is getting things done,” Ben said, his voice carrying across the auditorium. “At least we know that while one town is listening to their celebrities and having brunch and going for horse dancing lessons, another town is down in the dirt, doing what needs to be done to make itself better.”

He hardly recognized the words coming out of his mouth. The more he spoke, the more he seemed to distance from himself, turning into something stronger, much more confident, someone who truly believed the words he was saying.

“Pawnee has raccoons, sure, but they're part of our charm. It's something that brings us all together. Call us weirdos, but we’re weirdos who care. You'll always see it's citizens standing up for what they believe in, holding their ground, making their voices heard.” He took a deep breath, grabbing the microphone, and spoke directly from his heart. “Our rec center classes teach valuable skills. Our parks are beautiful places to walk around in, maybe have a picnic in Ramsett Park. City Hall is huge and beautiful and filled with so many people who are working hard every single day to make sure Pawnee citizens are happy, working even in their off time. And little charms, little town staples like JJ’s Diner…”

Ben met Leslie's eye.

“... well, JJ’s Diner is home to the best breakfast food in the world.”

And there it was— that tentative, gentle smile. She didn't look away, but raised her head higher, her eyes shining with something that looked suspiciously like tears. This meant something to her, far more than Ben could ever hope to understand. But Pawnee was her  _ home. _

He cleared his throat, and with his closing remarks, he didn't once look away from her. “I moved to Pawnee from Minnesota when I was only eight years old. I came into high school, even, hating everything about it. I was bitter, and lonely, and so desperate to get out there and find my way somewhere else. But now I'm going to college in this town. Now I've fallen in love with this town. And Pawnee… Pawnee is special.”

And the strangest thing about it all— he actually believed himself. He didn't feel himself lying for even a moment.

The next several hours passed in a blur of activity, after the debate was ruled in favor of Ben’s side. Pawnee High erupted into cheers, Eagleton trying to pick fights in the crowd, and Ben was pushed around everywhere, between people trying to talk to him or Eagletonians trying to swear at him. Andy and Tom were clapping his back, Jen was shaking his hand in congratulations, Ben’s parents were there to silently nod their approval before they slowly started bickering with each other over who's great idea it was to move to Pawnee in the first place. But Ben didn't care, he couldn't even be bothered to listen to them— he just kept searching her out.

His eyes scanned the crowd for any signs of her, even though he had no idea what he would even say once he found her. There weren't enough words to properly express exactly how he was feeling, and he wouldn't even know where to begin. He was pushing his parents to the side, looking through the crowds, wondering if she was so tiny that it was possible she was simply trampled down by everyone else. Either way, Leslie seemed to have disappeared, leaving just the ghost of her real smile in her wake.

“Dude,” Tom called out, appearing at Ben’s shoulder. “You're coming to my party, right? As soon as we get out of here a bunch of us are heading over— gotta celebrate your win, man.”

Ben grinned, thinking one more time about his  _ win,  _ how there was something to celebrate instead of something to mourn. It was enough to make him feel powerful. “Of course,” he told Tom, before dropping his voice significantly. “Uh, did anyone get any…”

“April’s out getting the drinks right now, my man,” he snapped, pointing both his fingers out. “Best plug in the game, I'm telling ya.”

“Thank god,” he breathed. “Let's get out of here now before my parents find me again.” He sent a quick text just letting them know he was leaving with Tom before quickly making his escape, climbing into Tom’s car with Andy and Jean-Ralphio.

The party started fast. Ridiculously fast. The blur continued as they walked into an empty house that filled up in only an hour. April showed up not long after they did with bags full of cheap alcohol, shoving a bill in Tom’s hands, and the guests surged over to her, creating a makeshift bar, as Jean-Ralphio set the music to full volume.

Ben was instantly lost in the party. Everyone wanted to talk to him, even people that didn't give a damn about Debate Club nerds, simply because it was a Pawnee win against  _ Eagleton,  _ which was miracle enough to get even the most bitter of them celebrating. He hugged people, shook hands, and accepted drinks from those who would offer them. Several beers, several shots, the music so loud he could feel himself vibrating, his brain quickly going fuzzy, the room starting to spin just slightly, stumbling over his own feet, and then—

He saw her.

He  _ saw  _ her, knocking back a shot with Ann and April, wincing as it hit her but refusing to use a chaser. She was still dressed just as nicely as she was earlier, in a red blouse and dark pants, her hair tied back at the nape of her neck, and now he really couldn't stop looking at her. The alcohol was hitting his brain and it was all he could do to stand and watch her as she giggled, that smile playing on her lips, trying to figure out if he should say anything at all.

He shouldn't, should he? They were still rivals at the end of the day. She still didn't like him and he wasn't supposed to like her. The most they ever shared was a spin-the-bottle kiss at a party not unlike this one and an angst-ridden blowjob after a fight in the boys’ locker room. It wasn't enough to build any kind of friendship on, it wasn't enough to give him any reason to go up and talk to her without a reason.

But god, he wanted to.

He swayed on his feet and stood rooted to the spot, occasionally bringing his beer up to his lips. His eyes went completely out of focus trying to think about the whole Leslie situation, spots of blurry blonde hair in his vision, before her voice jolted him back to reality.

“Wyatt,” she greeted him, and even though she was using his last name, it was without her usual malice. “Hey. You don't look so great.”

She was  _ here.  _ Not just at the party, but right in front of him, holding an identical beer to his own. She was looking right at him with the tiniest little smile on his face, and it was enough to make him swallow hard.

“Oh,” he mumbled. “I'm sorry. I… you know, alcohol. Celebration. Things like that. You… um… what's up?”

He was making a fool out of himself, but all he could think about was the memory of her mouth on his dick and it had been far too long since he last talked to her. 

“I guess I just wanted to say congratulations, too,” she said. “I mean, it's not everyday that someone from Pawnee beats Eagleton.”

“You hate Eagleton,” he blurted out, and her smile got wider.

“Of course I do.”

“You're actually talking to me. I wasn't really expecting that. I mean, why are you…”

“I really like what you said up there,” she said, but it was so quiet he barely heard her. “Um, do you wanna get away from the music for a bit? Somewhere a little more quiet, private? I just… I just have something I wanna say to you.”

Dumbfounded, Ben nodded, following her as she spun on her heel and made her way through the crowd. The problem, however, was that Leslie was much smaller than him, and therefore much better at sneaking her way past people. He was losing her quick, pushing and shoving, so he grabbed her. His drunk brain that couldn't process what might not be a good idea grabbed her hand, holding it tight, and she didn't even question it, either. Maybe because she was just as drunk as he was, but she didn't recoil away, instead dragging him through Tom’s living room and up the stairs to an empty hallway, lined with pictures and a closet door. Here, they could still hear the music, but it was a dull thud more than anything else, gently vibrating against the walls like static.

“Hi,” she breathed when they stopped, and it occurred to both of them that they were still holding hands. They let go very quickly.

“Hi,” he echoed.

“You said Pawnee is special.”

“I did.”

There was an odd air between them, not unlike their usual tension, but… slightly shifted. This tension was heavy and nerve wracking and made his skin tingle, but it didn't seem like it was going to end in name-calling and screaming. Instead, they kept looking directly in each other’s eyes, swaying gently on the spot in the dimly lit hallway.

“I didn't know you felt like that,” she said. Her lips were slightly parted, her chin up. “I mean… when I first met you, you said you hated Pawnee. You… you gave me all these reasons, and it made me kind of hate you—”

“I used to hate Pawnee,” he admitted, and the second it was out of his mouth he knew it to be true. “Just used to. But Pawnee is a really special town. I… I love living here.” He felt his heart drop in his chest, thinking of Pawnee, but suddenly it was no longer just about the town. Suddenly it was so, so much more than that, more than he could ever express openly, more than he even knew what to do with. It was a feeling he couldn't quite pinpoint in his drunken state, and all he knew was this girl right in front of him, this girl that he kind of very much wanted to touch. “And I… and I look forward to the moments in my day where I get to… to see the town. And talk to the town about… stuff. And the town has really nice blonde hair too, and… and has read a shocking number of political biographies for a town, which I like.”

Leslie shuddered, something he could see so obviously in her shoulders, holding herself together. Her face filled with color at his words, taking a moment to breathe. “I'm not quite sure you're talking about the town, anymore.”

“Well, why not? I think I've been kind of hating this town for years for no reason, just because the town is strong and doesn't take my bullshit and it wasn't what I'm used to. Maybe I put way too much energy into being mean to the town instead of getting to know the town and all the things that make it great. And the town doesn't deserve the hate it gets, because the town really cares,  _ god,  _ no one is more passionate than the town—”

She kissed him.

Leslie  _ kissed him,  _ grabbing him by his jacket and pulling him in, pressing her lips very firmly to his. She swallowed the last of his words, barely mumbled against her skin, before Ben came alive, grabbing her face with one hand and circling the other around her waist to get her closer.

She tasted the same as she did last year, when they first kissed— like whipped cream vodka, and a very distinct something else, almost like strawberries. Something sweet, something addictive, something that pulled him in and refused to let go. Their eyes squeezed shut and she moaned against his parted lips, and from there, everything could only escalate that much faster.

If asked, he couldn't tell you who pushed who into the closet. All he knew was that suddenly a door was opening and slamming shut and his eyes had to adjust to the dark. They pulled apart at the lips only for a moment, and Ben took the opportunity by grabbing Leslie’s shoulders and pinning her against the wall. She gasped in surprise, and he reached up to cradle her head, before curling his fingers around her hair tie and yanking it out to let her hair down.

“Ben?” she gasped, almost a question. “Ben, Ben.”

_ “Shhh,”  _ he hissed, and something in him just seemed to break. A part of him that never really got to touch her, who was pushed away when he offered to, where she has given but never received. And it was a bad idea, maybe all of this was, but suddenly he couldn't hold back anymore. He simply  _ wanted.  _

He grabbed her face and kissed her again, and she responded with equal levels of passion. Everything about this was frantic, hurried, as if any minute now they might snap into their right minds and it would all be over. They grabbed at each other like the clock was ticking, and maybe it was. Maybe the alcohol would wear off and they would be just as horrified by each other, turning this into something more like screaming, maybe tears, or maybe nothing at all.

_ Delicate. _

And yet  _ harsh. _

Her fingers scrambled to untuck his shirt and not wanting to be outdone once again, he started to pull at her clothes. He hoisted her up the wall and pinned her with his body, his knee settling between her legs with a soft gasp from her lips. He pulled her blouse right over her head and smoothed his hand over her skin, along the dip of her waist, creeping to her back and reaching to snap the clasp of her bra. Just that was enough to send her shivering, clutching at his shoulders, her breath hitching as his palm covered her bare breast, thumb rolling over her nipple until it hardened, reveling in the feel of her under him and the arching of her back as he touched her.

“Please,” she gasped, successfully pulling his shirt over his head. “Please, please.”

“Tell me what you want.” He lowered himself to scrape his teeth along the side of her breast, and when he moved over to her nipple, she fully  _ shouted,  _ as if not expecting it, a grunt that sent her quickly spiraling. His fingers found their way to the clasp of her pants, tugging them down her hips, eager to get her as naked as possible in his presence before the morning came. “Tell me what you want.”

_ “Ben,”  _ she whined, as he rid her of her pants and snapped the waistband of her underwear. His eyes were just adjusted to the dark enough to see they were a pale pink and soaked through. 

“Tell me,” he repeated.

“Touch me,” she whispered, and there was a quiet vulnerability there, something so soft, so unusual. A side of her he had never seen before— a side where she allowed herself to release control, where she let herself lower her guard and give in to what she wanted at a very primal level. She was writhing, shivering between him and the wall, her nails digging into the bare skin of his back. “Please.”

It was the barely whispered  _ please  _ that did it for him, the way her fingers drifted across the bulge in his pants and tugged him closer, begging for friction. In fact, she really did look close to begging, holding him tighter as she lost her balance, as Ben spread her legs without a single gentle thought. They were well past being gentle, well past wasting time.

He slid her underwear down her thighs and tossed them aside to get lost in the closet, instantly meeting her pleading by sliding a single finger through her folds, feeling her out, figuring out what made her gasp and what made her moan. She fully cried out when his thumb slid over her clit, trembling in his arms, so he used this as a target, circling gently and testing how long she would last before she broke. 

“You wanted this, didn't you?” he asked her in a low voice, his arm working between them. “You're soaked. You wanted this. You really wanted this.”

She didn't respond, whimpering into his shoulder, groaning loudly as he slid two fingers inside of her. He curled them gently just once before he gave no mercy again, pounding in and out of her so furiously that it shook her whole body, his palm brushing her clit with every stroke. “Tell me,” he said to her again, barely recognizing his own words, hardly understanding the severity of them, of just what exactly he was trying to get her to admit. “You've thought about this, haven't you?”

“Ben,” she cried, her head falling to his shoulder, biting into his skin. “Please—”

“You've wanted this. Tell me you've wanted this. You've wanted this for a while, haven't you? Always wanted this.”

She choked on a sob, and he could sense her building, his muscles working between them, sweat on her forehead as she looked up to try and meet his eyes again. She was gently bouncing with the force of his fingers, but she still found a way to look at him, as if to communicate something without words.

And the saddest thing was… she almost looked like she was going to cry.

Maybe it was the force of the confession, or the alcohol getting to her brain, but her eyes watered as she panted, holding him tighter, and yet somehow more intimate, tracing along his skin with a tremble of her lips.

“I've always wanted this,” she whispered, something raw and real in her tone, and for some reason, Ben didn't quite catch that. “I've always wanted you.”

… 

He was warm when he woke up.

Very warm, and very stiff, like he had slept wrong. His head was pounding, reaching up to rub the crease of his brow only to hit something soft, and someone next to him moved. 

_ Oh. Oh, god. _

It wasn't that he was surprised, really, because he was definitely just lucid enough last night to know what he was getting himself into. He just hadn't had the thought process for what finger-fucking her might mean  _ after  _ the fact, and what it meant for the precarious tightrope they had been walking on all year.

It didn't make things any better that, while he remembered large chunks of what happened, there were still slight gaps in his memory. He remembered the feeling of her as she came, clapping a hand over her mouth to keep her quiet as she screamed, falling into his arms. He remembered arms wrapping around each other and holding hands and… and he knew that they talked. They talked before the kiss, and they talked while he was inside her, but he couldn't for the life of him remember what about except for the fact that she said his  _ name. _

Not  _ Wyatt.  _ Just  _ Ben. _

And it occurred to him, then, as he looked over and saw her tiny frame curled up on the floor, in this tiny little closet they somehow fell asleep in, that what happened between them was  _ intimate.  _ It was rough, and it was raw, hurried and frantic, but it was something deeper, something unsaid between them, something that meant more than either of them would ever let on. Her hair was fanned out around his head and she wore his shirt, so oversized on her, while Ben was forced to throw on one of Tom’s sweaters left sitting in the closet to cover his chest.

Everything had been so fragile, but now this was bordering on breaking.

“Oh god,” Leslie whispered to his side, and he found her slowly sitting up, looking around the still dimly lit closet, staring at the shirt she was wearing with a lack of pants on underneath. She saw him, her eyes widening, opening and closing her mouth. “Oh,  _ fuck.  _ Ben. I remember.”

“I remember too,” he mumbled, feeling a little awkward even looking at her. He didn't exactly regret what happened between them, but what if she did? What if this was the worst possible choice they could've made for themselves in the long run?

There was a long, awkward pause between them, as if both of them were just trying to figure out what to do. They woke up in Tom’s  _ closet,  _ hungover, after completely ditching a big party to be together. Explaining this to Tom and Andy would be an utter nightmare, especially considering he wasn't so keen on the idea of sharing that it was with his long time rival, Leslie Knope, of all people he could've fucked.

And Leslie… her hair looked soft, limp and slightly mussed up, pushing it out of her face. Her lips pouted with her deep sigh, and it suddenly hit Ben that he didn't want to hear her turn him away. He didn't want her to tell him to go, didn't want to face the pain of rejection. He didn't want to put his heart on the line when he didn't even know exactly what he was feeling, or what they were doing at all, but he couldn't let his own heart break. So when she opened her mouth to speak, he instantly cut her off.

“This doesn't have to mean anything,” he told her, rushing through the words. Her mouth closed, and she took a tiny step back.

“What?”

“What happened last night. It doesn't have to mean anything. We were drunk, and emotions were high, and we were both just kind of there and available. I mean, that means nothing, right?”

And Ben didn't catch the shaking of her fingers, the wetness in her eyes, the way her shoulders hunched in and she recoiled as if she had been punched in the gut. He noticed none of this, too focused on finding an escape route, too focused on keeping his own heart swept away under lock and key. 

“I mean…” Leslie started, choking on her own words. “I mean… yeah. It… it didn't mean anything. It was an accident, really.”

“Exactly!” He threw his hands in the air, tearing his eyes away from her in favorite of staring at the floor, doing up his belt. “Exactly. It didn't mean anything. We don't even have to tell anyone. We can just forget it ever happened and move on. We don't have to talk about it again. Okay?”

Leslie hesitated for just a moment, as if stuck on something, her lower lip trembling. And when he saw her, he only saw regret in her eyes, the realization of a mistake made, a line crossed.

_ (And Ben didn't realize it then, but the mistake made wasn’t being with him— it was imagining being with him could possibly end in any way but heartbreak.) _

“Okay,” she said, so quiet that he strained to hear. “Okay. Nobody needs to know.”

***

**PRESENT DAY**

There's a sort of quiet loneliness in losing yourself in past memories, knowing that there's nothing you can do to change them.

It's something so dark, so deeply heartbreaking, to remember a moment that meant nothing at the time, but holds the weight of the entire world in the present. It all comes to him at once, even, drowning him, dragging him down until all he can hear is his own words in that tiny closet, staring at her eyes that were so bright in the dimmed light. 

He was foolish, then, even more so than he is now.

To think that then, he had it all. He didn't even know it yet, but his life was in screaming color, so perfect, every opportunity presenting itself, just for him to shoot it down everytime. And now, falling through the floor and losing his breath in this darkness, he can see every little sign. 

And she gave so many signs.

Tiny glances here and there, the way she kissed him at their first party. Coming up to him after he stood up to Mark, smiling at him when he talked to her about Dave. Telling him there was a guy who didn't like her back, getting to her knees in the boys’ locker rooms. The way she looked at him when he said  _ Pawnee is special,  _ like years of hatred hit her in the gut like a knife of regret. Trying to take it all back by kissing him and telling him that she had wanted this all along.

The heartbreak on her face when he told her it meant nothing at all.

It was like there was some string between them, connecting them at every moment, every level. A string that kept them tied to each other, a string that led them to each other every single year, every fight and every kiss and every single moment they looked in each other’s eyes and could simply  _ be.  _ A string that they kept cutting, just to pick up and tie it all over again, as if testing just how strong it really was. It's cut for the very last time, now, and the remains slip away from him, leaving him nothing to hold onto but her ghost to haunt him and his own memories to mock him.

He should've told her then that he loved her.

And now he never will.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AN: this chapter does get dark in places, so I ask that you all be mindful of the tags and warnings on this fic before proceeding. Thank you so much and leave a comment if you feel so inclined<3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter featured (technically) the very last of Ben's flashbacks, so I took all of them and put them in chronological order throughout their high school years, plus their conversation from the first chapter tacked in at the end. I'll link the doc here for reading pleasures!  
> https://docs.google.com/document/d/1Ls79wlorjgY5YKlkKcYQ6l-XiuX7RsEeWGI8TuTGQgY/edit

His first thought is that  _ this can't be possible. _

It can't be real, it makes no sense at all. Leslie can't be dead because the sun is still shining, the earth is still moving, people are still smiling. She can't be dead because if she was, he would feel it in his heart like an open wound, something missing, something taken from him. She can't be dead because it's not  _ fair. _

It's not fair that so many bad people are still walking around right now, alive and well, while she has to die.

It's not fair that Ben is sitting here in Pawnee while Leslie is gone, when she was a much better person than he ever was. Ann said it herself.

_ It should've been him. _

For a while, he can't find it in himself to move. He's somehow still standing on two feet, but his vision goes blurry, noise is fuzzy. People are talking but he has no idea what they're saying, people are sobbing but he doesn't know who. All he knows is his hands are trembling and the earth has swallowed him and why is everything still  _ moving?  _ How is it that the entire earth hasn't completely stopped to stand and to mourn, how are they still here?

Why her?

_ Why her? _

“It's not real,” he says suddenly, his own voice enough to slowly break him out of his reverie. Faces turn to look at him, some tear streaked, some pale, all horrified. “It's not real.” He doesn't know what he's saying, but somehow it makes sense to him. It can't be real. It can't be. It's not possible. “She's not dead, guys. That's just fake. They're lying.” There's a sad, high-pitched laugh that escapes him as he says it, like he's gone totally insane.  _ “She's not dead, guys.” _

“Ben,” April says, in a voice far too soft to be her own. It's actually  _ pitying,  _ for once in her life. She reaches to touch his shoulder, and he flinches at the contact. “Ben, you really need to see…”

“See what?” he snarls, yanking his arm away from her. “See what? This is stupid, that we’re all crying. It's stupid, there's no evidence, just their word. I mean, do they even have a body? It's so—”

_ “Ben,”  _ she says, more firmly. “There's pictures.”

_ Pictures.  _

Of her? Are his nightmares coming true?

He scrambles for his phone, ignoring his low battery, pulling up article after article about the news. “How could there be pictures?” he asks into the air, scrolling aimlessly down, words like  _ Leslie Knope  _ and  _ dead  _ jumping out at him. “Why would they even…”

“I think they got leaked,” Jen adds, clutching at her stomach. Not even she looks okay, even she looks on the verge of tears, her arm wrapped around a very still Ann. “The police only know about it because they were anonymously sent photos that got leaked. Nobody knows where she is still, or what happened to her.”

And that's when he realizes, he  _ really realizes,  _ just how his friends are reacting. Tom isn't speaking, for once in his life, clinging to Jean-Ralphio for support. Donna is still silently crying. April and Jen are both pale, shaking gently, staring at Ben. Andy is staring off into the bushes with no expression on his face at all. And Ann still hasn't moved, not even once, staring at her phone, too frozen to even tremble.

He opens a link on his phone, and—

The bile rises quickly in his throat, but he pushes it down, clapping his hand over his mouth. He heaves for a breath, wanting to throw his phone aside, but he can't look away. It kills him, but he needs to  _ know,  _ he needs to see that it's her, needs to process what's happened.

It's her.  _ It's her. _

The photo is dark, a little grainy, but it's  _ her,  _ lying on a cold metal floor in the same clothes he saw her in on the last day of school. Only this time, they're stained red. It's in her matted hair and it's on the floor and  _ her eyes are closed, and— _

Ben throws his phone.

He  _ throws  _ it, refusing to look any longer, trying to wipe the image from his brain. He doesn't care if he never gets his phone back, as long as it means he never has to see that picture ever again. It is his nightmares, fully becoming reality now, as if they had been predicting the future all along. The future where she's gone, she's really gone,  _ and the last fucking thing they did together was fight. _

“No,” he groans, shaking his head and clutching his stomach. “No, no, no.”

“Ben,” April says again, and it should mean something, that she's trying so hard to comfort him when she never has before, but he can't focus on that. He can't focus on even  _ April  _ being so jarred that she's resorted to empathy and niceties, which is more out of character than anyone. She's wiping tears from her eyes and falling back to curl into Andy, standing behind her now… “Ben, do you need to—”

“Shut up,” he hisses, taking several steps back. “What's wrong with you? What's wrong with all of you?”

April looks around the backyard, making note of everyone, lingering particularly long on Andy, who doesn't nothing but cling to her, and Jen, hugging Ann to her side, who still hasn't even seemed to blink. “What are you talking about?” April asks him, and he catches once more the tremble of her palms. “Ben, this is hard on everyone, you know that, and if you need to talk—”

_ “What's wrong with you?  _ Sitting around here, staring into nothing,  _ doing nothing?  _ This isn't going to accomplish  _ anything.”  _ He feels his anger bubbling up to the surface, kept inside for too long, threatening to explode now at the worst possible time. But he doesn't care. He doesn't care about anything anymore. “This isn't… we can't  _ give up.  _ We need to find out who did this, where she is,  _ she could still be alive!  _ Why are we just letting this go? She could be out there somewhere, just waiting for me—”

“It's not all on you, Ben, you're just going to hurt yourself if you make it all your responsibility—”

_ “It is my responsibility!”  _ He chokes on a sob, and he knows he must look deranged, pointed fingers flying, face red. “It  _ is  _ my responsibility, because it's my goddamn fault. It's  _ my  _ fault, April, I did this. I should've known, maybe, I could've stopped her from leaving that day. I could've stayed, I could've told her… you don't understand, I had so many things I had to tell her still, and  _ why didn't I stop her? Why didn't I—” _

_ “Ben.”  _

April’s voice is firm, cutting through his rambling, her hand landing on his shoulder. She looks him in the eye, enough to paralyze him, and he knows exactly what she's going to say. He prays she won't say it,  _ prays, he can't hear it now, not now— _

“Ben,” she whispers. “It's over.”

Something in him deflates, fizzles out, and he knows he has to leave. 

He escapes out the gate and he runs home, and no one stops him, no one calls for him. No one comes knocking on his door, and maybe that's for the best. He manages to keep himself controlled until he throws up in the bathroom, emptying all his insides until his throat burns of acid.

He falls asleep in the shower, her name still on his lips.

…

Ben dreams of her again that night.

Her eyes are open this time, but they stare at nothing. They look straight ahead.

They're glassy, cold.

Empty.

… 

The police put out a statement the following day.

_ We are deeply saddened to inform the citizens of Pawnee that one of our own, eighteen-year-old Leslie Knope, has been pronounced dead as of yesterday, June 26th. She was always a bright, ambitious, and passionate member of our community, showing love and kindness through her time volunteering and her dedication to making this town a better place. We have much to thank her for. _

_ As of today, her death has been ruled as an accident. We currently believe her to have escaped Pawnee as a runaway, and didn't have the means to survive on her own. Her body has not yet been recovered nor do we know who took these pictures and allowed them into our possession. We ask for your understanding and your patience as we close her case indefinitely to pay our respects, or until further notice. _

_ Out of respect for her and all that she's done for our town, an open casket funeral will take place one week from today on July 3rd, at Pawnee City Hall. Everyone is welcome to come and speak on her character and her life. _

_ Through this mourning period, we ask all of Pawnee to come together and remember the brightness that Miss Knope has shown us. To end on one of her favorite quotes from the great Eleanor Roosevelt, “It is better to light a single candle than to curse the darkness.”  _

_ Thank you. _

Ben crumples the statement in his fists and tosses it, and shoves his recovered phone under his pillow so he doesn't have to read any of it ever again.

He shuts off his lights and doesn't leave his room for five days.

… 

The morning of July 3rd is impossibly quiet. 

It's as if no one speaks at all, too afraid to break the silence, worried that opening their mouths will start the tears. Ben hasn't cried yet. Ben hasn't felt much at all yet. He's been sleeping for days on end and staring at his wall and trying to figure out exactly how to stop thinking, which has been working out beautifully for him, until now.

Now, as it nears time to go and he knows he has to get ready, it's suddenly a lot harder to be numb. His brain sparks with remembrance, and everything reminds him of her. Even his own reflection.

He sinks into his finest suit and reaches his heavy arms up to straighten his tie, wondering why he’s bothering to look professional when she’ll never even get to see it. He shouldn't bother to do anything at all if she’ll never know, because isn't that half the reason he did things anyway? To get her attention? Four years he spent trying to find a way to get her to look at him just to know now that he’ll never even see her eyes again.

He sees his lips, and he remembers them pressed to hers. He sees his fist, he remembers curling it when she yelled at him. He sees his fingers, working between her legs, and his nose, bumping against hers as they try to kiss each other in the darkness of the closet. He pulls on his belt and remembers the way she tugged at it, and when he breathes he imagines her sigh, the way she panted his name, her hair falling in her face. So beautiful, so beautiful.

And just like that, it's all gone. So inevitable, that happy picture of her fades from his mind and switches with a horror shot, that terrible picture on his phone, where she's lying still and covered in blood. He can't even see the blue of her eyes but he's not even sure he wants to, because it won't be the same anymore,  _ she  _ won't be there anymore…

Ben’s only seen that picture once, but it haunts him everytime he closes his eyes.

“Ben?” His mother knocks on his door gently, and for once, his parents are trying their hardest to get along. It's not working well, and there have been so many slip-ups, but they are trying. They're  _ trying.  _ “Are you ready to go?”

He closes his eyes and nods, speaking for the first time in days. “I'm ready.”

… 

It strikes him one more time as they walk into Pawnee City Hall that this can’t be possible.

Maybe it's the voices all around him, the people milling about, trying to find seats and trying to comfort each other, but his brain seems to wake up, jolting him back into reality. He can think again, really and truly  _ think,  _ and nothing about this feels right at all. There's still so much to  _ do. _

Leslie is still out there, somewhere. Shauna still knows something. This story isn't over yet.

And it's just his luck that the first person he recognizes here is Mark Brendanawicz.

“What are you doing here?” Ben asks him as they walk past each other, Mark clearly having hoped to avoid this exact conversation. He sighs and doubles back, dressed just as nicely as Ben.

“Don't ask me that, Wyatt,” Mark says, his voice much lower than usual. “You know why I'm here. It's the same as you.”

“No it's not,” he insists. “It's  _ not.  _ You didn't know her.”

“I  _ dated her.” _

“But you didn't  _ know  _ her. She was nothing to you, I know that. Just a girl to kiss and fuck.”

_ “Dude,”  _ Mark hisses, ducking down slightly to match Ben’s height. “Can you not say that shit here? Right now? This is the worst possible place to do this—”

“Why? Why is it? Actually, I think it's the best. I mean, we’re all here to talk about her life, right? Pay our respects? How can you respect her death when you never even respected her life?”

It's the first he's actually said the words out loud, publicly acknowledging her  _ death,  _ and it hits him like a punch in the gut. He suddenly feels dizzy, and Mark is standing in front of him with red eyes and curling fists. Ben doesn't even remember actively choosing to start a problem, or to fight with Mark. Maybe he just needed to feel something. Maybe a punch to his face would wake him up.

“Listen, Wyatt,” Mark growls, pointing a finger right into his chest. “I don't know what game you're playing, but I don't want any part in it. You're not on some moral high ground, you know, you caused her just as much hell as anyone else did, if not more.”

“You're an  _ ass,”  _ Ben says. “An  _ ass, the worst—” _

“I get that you're grieving, dude. But let it go. Cry, or something. Clearly you need to.”

Mark claps Ben’s shoulder and walks away, leaving him stunned and unable to formulate a response.  _ Cry?  _ No, Ben won't cry. He's cried too much to be able to cry now. There's no tears left. No, all the tears left in this world have gone to people like Ann, who carries enough emotions for the both of them combined. Ann, who’s wearing a black dress and clutching Jen, staring past heads to look right at him.

He's just gotten caught.

And just like with Mark, he can feel his self destructive tendencies jump into overdrive. His emotions shoot through the roof and everywhere he looks, there's something to be upset about. Ann looks away from him and walks away, after not speaking to him for a week. His parents are bickering in a corner. The police are here, along with the Chief and his son Dave, looking at the floor and pretending to be hurt. Even worse, Marlene Griggs-Knope rushes in as if she's late, refusing to cry as if it might ruin her makeup, straightening up Leslie’s photos as if  _ that's  _ the most important thing to do right now.

He debates between all of them, but he settles with Ann.

“Ann,” he calls out, pushing through crowds of people to chase after her. She's pointedly ignoring him, he can tell, curling tighter to Jen.  _ “Ann.” _

“What do you want, Ben?”

Jen pats Ann’s shoulder and goes to get her a cup of water, leaving Ann and Ben alone. She's a wreck when she turns around, not even bothering to wear mascara this time around, her face red and tear stained. She's still crying, even, trembling softly, and for some reason all Ben can do is be  _ angry.  _ Angry that she's crying instead of doing something, she's wandering around instead of talking to people, she's pushing away from him when they really, really need to come together.

“Ann,” he gasps. “She's not dead.”

Just those three words seem to slap Ann in the face, making her stumble, clutching her gut. She struggles to breathe, for a moment, trying to find her voice. “We’ve been over this. I know April talked to you…”

“But what does April know?  _ Please  _ hear me out, please, it's all a mistake, don't you think? It makes no sense, Ann. There's not even a body.”

He didn't even plan on saying the words, but they make sense to him, clutching desperately on this last little bit of hope he has left. There's the smallest spark of a flame inside of him that's keeping him going, so close to flickering out, so close to letting him drop and drown and break. He doesn't know why, but he  _ needs  _ to say this. He needs Ann to understand.

“You saw the picture, Ben,” she cries. “You  _ saw  _ it. Listen, I want to have hope as much as the next guy, and I want her back more than anyone, but how? It's just… it's a pipe dream, and I think if I continue on down this path, it'll just keep destroying me.”

The anger flares up again. “So you're giving up.”

“Honestly, Ben, sometimes I think giving up is the healthiest option. And maybe you should consider that, too. I mean, look at you, I'm  _ worried  _ for you—”

“Are you kidding me? I'm worried for  _ you.  _ How do you not see the problem here? There's just… there's so much to wonder about still. Do you think Shauna knew about this? Do you think that's why she said—”

_ “Please don't do this—” _

“Do you think the police are involved? I mean, we all know she didn't run away. She was kidnapped, so that statement they put out was total bullshit, they're probably covering up their own tracks—”

_ “Please,”  _ Ann sobs, begging him now. “Please, please just let it go…”

_ “I can't!  _ She could be waiting out there right now, Ann, right now! There's something else going on here, and I can't just give up until I get the whole story. I mean, there's still people to talk to. We can go back to Swanson, or that janitor Jerry. We still have to talk to Dave Sanderson about their history— oh! And her mom. Marlene.  _ God,  _ I really have a bone to pick with her, how can she be absent for every one of her daughter's events and then shows up like this at her funeral? No, it's all fake, we definitely need to talk to her, and probably Principal Traeger while we're at it…”

It takes him too long to realize that Ann is truly and genuinely sobbing, loudly and openly, causing Jen to rush back to her. “Please, just…” Ann sniffles, wiping her face, and gives Ben her most sincere look, right into his eyes. “I'm begging you. Please just leave me alone today.”

For a moment, he's dumbfounded, opening and closing his mouth. He can feel the slight tremor in his palms, threatening to send him into a much more emotional breakdown that he fights off, pushes back, but it's too much, too much…

“But…” he whispers. “But Ann—”

_ “Go!”  _ Ann screams it, eliciting stares on all sides, people who look horrified at the idea of raised voices at a funeral. All of a sudden, everything seems to get a lot more quiet again, that dull knife cutting into his gut again, straight to the heart.  _ “Go, Ben. Please.  _ I just… I just  _ can't do this.  _ Not anymore.”

She finds Jen's arms and curls herself there, burying her head into the crook of her neck. Jen, shocked at the outburst, presses a hand to Ann’s head, gently stroking her hair, looking at Ben with a look that he can't describe, somewhere in between pity and pure fury.

“Leave her alone, Ben,” Jen demands of him in a low voice. “Don't you think we’re all having a hard enough time here?”

Both girls don't even give him enough time to respond, turning on their heels and walking away to find a seat before the ceremony begins. When Ben looks around, he can tell it's close. People clutch sheets of paper, wanting to speak, while others cling to their handkerchiefs. Others still look as if they don't belong at all, milling around like its any other event, but it's a testimony of how much Leslie meant to this town that these people are few and far between. And suddenly, looking around the room one more time, a chill runs down his spine.

It's cold.

His hands shake violently now, almost impossible to calm them, and he knows the tears are going to come before he can stop them. Just like that, his pathetic bit of hope is slipping away again, and it seems ridiculous that it ever existed in the first place. The air is cold and the voices are soft and there's nowhere to run anymore, nowhere to hide, and he just wishes,  _ wishes  _ he could see her face one last time.

Even at their worst… even at their most horrific of fights and their hardest days, she never once deserved the way he treated her. She never once deserved the hell of all four years, the insults they would throw around like stones, too tired and too scared to put their weapons down and say  _ I think I love you. _

And now she's dead.

It hits him in full force as soon as he finds himself at the front of the room, hardly remembering getting here. Her casket stands in front of him, looking larger as he gets closer, and for a moment, he expects to see her. He expects to find her lying peacefully there in all white and her hands clasped over her stomach like a sleeping princess that he can just kiss to get her to wake up. But this isn't some fairytale. All the kisses in the world can't bring her back now.

Of course, she's not there. Nobody knows where she is. But as he gets closer and looks over the open casket, the smell hits him with a memory, so clear in his mind, so heartbreakingly sad. Her casket is full, he sees now, and it's so casually cruel what they've done, because it's filled to the brim with—

_ Wildflowers. _

***

**SENIOR YEAR**

**TWO MONTHS BEFORE GRADUATION**

He almost walked away when he saw her.

He didn't even really mean to come here. It was after school, after Student Council, and Ben had assumed everyone had left the building. The halls were quiet, and his footsteps echoed, choosing to take a walk with his hands in his pockets, wondering about her.

It was always her.

It was funny, really, how after four years, she was still the first thing on his mind. Since the moment he met her, the first day of school when she helped him open his locker, to now, two months before they would graduate and quite possibly go their separate ways forever. And it was cruel, really, so terribly cruel, that they hadn't even been talking, because just one month ago he left her sitting half naked in a closet at a party, words of  _ regret  _ whispered between them.

But here she was, like a figment of his worst intentions, a reminder of all the bad he’s done, looking far more peaceful than he had seen her in a long time. Sitting right on a bench in front of a wildflower mural that the school has on their second floor, her shoulders relaxed, her eyes closed so softly. She smiled when his footsteps stopped.

“I know you're there,” she whispered without opening her eyes, without moving at all. “It's okay. I'm not gonna yell at you.”

Ben flinched, feeling caught, but inched slowly closer to her. “Are you sure?” he teased gently, just hoping he wasn't going over the line. “And how do you know I'm not here to yell at you?”

“I just know.” Leslie opened her eyes then, lifting her head to get a good look at him. There was a tension there, something deep and palpable that made his heart thump loudly in his chest. “You can sit, you know.”

“Oh, I… I mean, I wouldn't want to disturb you or anything, if you're… if you're taking time alone.”

“Oh, I am,” she admitted, but she scooted to the right to make room for him anyway. “But I don't mind. Sit.”

So he did. Just far enough away that he didn't feel as if he was intruding on her, but close enough to touch. The bench wasn't exactly comfortable, but he  _ felt  _ something, just sitting underneath the mural, even if the flowers weren't real and they were very much still inside a building. But something smelled like clean air and fresh starts.

They were quiet for a long moment, just looking down the hall, a silence more comfortable than he had ever felt in his life.

“Have you ever just sat on this bench, just to think?” Leslie asked him suddenly. “Not to do anything, but just to think.”

“Not really. I always thought it looked nice, but I've never actually sat here before.”

“It's a good place to sit. It's my favorite place, actually, in all of Pawnee. This wildflower mural on the second floor. I come here when I want to be alone, when I need a moment of quiet. When I want to look at the wildflowers and pretend I'm in a field of them.”

“Why not actually go to a wildflower field?”

She giggled, something so deliciously carefree, and turned to meet Ben’s eye. “I'm scared of bees.”

He took a moment, then, to really pay attention to her, to watch Leslie Knope in this place that is her own. The mural really was beautiful, all yellow and green and bright enough that just looking at it, you felt a little more at peace. You felt like everything was going to be alright.

It suited her. She glowed underneath it, like there was nowhere else she belonged more. And she was letting him in now, when this was her place to be alone, to be truly vulnerable, and she  _ let him in.  _ Despite their mistakes and the careful silent treatment they had been giving each other for a month, despite agreeing to never talk about their moment in that closet, despite pretending like they didn't want to kiss each other every time they saw each other.

Ben decided it was time to take a leap. Swing for the fences.

“Do you ever regret it?” he asked her, watching her expression. “All those years spent fighting, since the moment we met. Do you ever wish we could take it all back?”

And she didn't even hesitate. “All the time.”

There it was, clear as day confirmation, and suddenly everything in him seized. Every time they walked away from each other flashed through his mind like a movie screen, showing him all their past mistakes, the moments they could never take back. And it wasn't even enough now, to say they were sorry, because it was likely years too late. Now, apologies were given with a heavy heart, a sense of goodbye.

Ben told Andy Dwyer four years ago that he felt like Leslie was going to change his life, whether for better or for worse. And he was right about that.

“I'm sorry, you know,” he breathed, and suddenly his voice was shaky, trying to find all the right words. “For all of it. It's all so confusing, and I… I never knew what to do about any of it, how to react. And I got so scared. That night, at Tom's party, with you…”

“Don't,” she interrupted him, but she was still smiling. “Don't worry about it. There was nothing we could've done differently, I don't think. It was probably for the best.”

There was something dark about the words they said, and how they were accompanied with a soft voice, the gentlest of smiles. She wasn't mad at all, just resigned. And despite the fact that they sat underneath a wildflower mural and dreamed of the sun, he knew at the end of the day, the rain was always going to come.

“Thank you,” she whispered, and her hand gently squeezed his, “for sitting here with me.”

No, he could never give her peace.

***

**PRESENT DAY**

Her casket is filled with wildflowers, yellow and purple, too bright to be here in the darkest of places. The contrast is enough to give him whiplash, smacking him across the face, and these new tears that he's been keeping at bay sting at the corner of his eyes, making it hard to see.

But if Leslie has to be buried with anything, he's glad that it's wildflowers. Bright, colorful, stubborn little things that grow just as freely as she always did.

Ben reaches down to grab a fallen yellow one from the floor, crumpled in his palm. He imagines himself presenting it to her, curling her hair behind her ear to place the flower there, yellow on yellow, so perfectly suited for her that he can't even imagine a more appropriate send off.

And it's fucked up, so unbelievably fucked up, that she's not even here to lie on her own bed of wildflowers. No, instead she’s curled up somewhere dark, her skin cold to the touch, nothing but dead, empty weight that they may never recover. It's  _ wrong, so wrong,  _ that he can't even give her this.

With shaking hands and a heavy heart, Ben places the lone wildflower in her casket, right where her head would be, as if he's placing it in her hair, and he whispers five words, just for him and just for her.

_ “You belong among the wildflowers.” _

… 

By the time he gets home, he's not sure he remembers anything from the funeral at all.

He knows that people spoke. He knows Marlene said something, empty words for a daughter she didn't even know. He knows Chief Sanderson said something, some reiteration of the statement he already put out. Ann tried to speak, but ended up stumbling over her words and bursting into inconsolable tears, needing Jen to come collect her from the stage and take her outside for a moment to breathe.

So many people Ben didn't even know were speaking on her life, on her character, what she meant to them. Even Ron Swanson, who was never one for speeches, stood up and told them all that the last great thing on this earth had left us, and without her, they were doomed to fall. He didn't sugarcoat it, didn't try to make people feel better, and that was the scariest thing of all— his unwavering honesty. The way that Ron sat back down and actually cried into his hands for a girl that he saw as his own daughter.

Ben didn't even try to speak. He didn't think he had the right to, at the end of the day, for all that he had done. Even if he tried to get up there, his voice would suddenly leave him, and it would be over just as quickly as it started.

He falls into bed that night holding his phone to his chest, feeling the beating of his heart, unable to find the energy to do more than sit there and breathe. He wants to punch things, throw things out the window, or cry into his pillow, but he can't do any of that. He can't even get up, can't even think, nothing but static and a loneliness so deep that it aches.

April’s words are the only thing to cut through to him, pounding into his brain like a mantra, cruel and unforgiving. 

It's over.  _ It's over. It's over. _

Around midnight he gets a phone call.

He doesn't want to answer it. Actually, he's kind of pissed off about it, because the ringing is piercing his ears and the vibrating is buzzing at his chest. He curses whoever is calling him at this time of night, as if he even has the energy to lift his arm to accept, but something else hits him then.

It's a force of habit, maybe, years spent answering his phone every time a random number calls, just hoping it would be her. He knows it's not, it never has been and now it never will be, but the habit sticks with him, driving him to do it, as if he's somehow honoring her by taking this call on the day of her funeral.

Not expecting anything at all, he accepts the call and brings the phone up to his ear. “What do you want?” he hisses, far too tired and far too broken to bother being polite. It's not like there's a chance anybody is even really there at all.

But there it is, the soft sound of breathing.

_ “Ben.”  _ A whisper, deadly quiet and rushed, something begging.  _ “Ben.”  _ A chill runs down his spine, and everything changes, everything spins, and if he wasn't on his bed surely he would already be collapsed to the floor right now, because—

That's her voice.

_ “Leslie,”  _ he gasps.


	16. Chapter 16

As soon as her feet hit the pavement, she's running.

She's barefoot, sure, and she's bleeding, but there's no time to worry about any of that. Her captor has left the city for an event and its left Leslie  _ free,  _ so beautifully free, escaping out the window through the night with no idea where she's going.

For once in her life, she has no time to think. She can only move.

It doesn't help that she has no idea where she is, or where she's going. It doesn't help that her clothes are torn and she's covered in cuts and bruises, she's moving with a limp, and she doesn't have her phone or any of her belongings. None of that matters at all, only the fact that  _ she needs to stay alive. _

There's a sting in her side that she clutches, wheezing, trying to push aside the pain. She's been living with it for weeks now, getting worse every day, worse for the last week. The last week, when she was sure she was going to die. When she would beg for her life just to be met with a scream, another kick, another bruise.

_ “Please,” she gasped, her knees to her chest, quickly backing away until she was pressed to the wall. “Please, please not again. Please don't— I won't— I won't do anything at all, but please don't hurt me again—” _

_ “Shut up,” the voice hissed, and there was a crack of a belt, her head whipping to the side with the force of the strike. Even before she brought her hand to her cheek, she felt blood. “I have some pictures to send out. Don't make this harder on yourself.” _

But of course, Leslie never went down without a fight.

It’s coming back to bite her now, blood on her hands and staining her clothes as she runs down the street, just trying to get far enough away before she comes up with a plan. As long as she's as far away as possible from her captor, there's less hope of him finding her again.  _ There's hope of her getting out of this alive. _

So she runs.

She doesn't know if she should feel lucky that it's nearing midnight, because it means the streets are dark and no one is milling about. There's no one to question why she looks like a crime scene, but there's no one to help her, either, no one she can borrow a phone from, no one to tell her where the hell she even is. And speaking of a crime scene— she needs to wash herself off as soon as possible. At least  _ try  _ to treat her wounds and get the blood off her face so she doesn't terrify anyone who  _ does  _ show up. It's starting to really hurt anyway, and she needs to take a break.

She practically collapses on the street before she finds a public restroom, and it feels like a true miracle that it's open and unlocked. She pushes herself inside and, before she can even take a chance at looking herself in the mirror for the first time in a month, she falls to the floor, heaving and trying to breathe, curling her knees to her chest.

_ Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe deeply. Slowly. Calm down. You've got this, you've got this. _

She needs to be Leslie Knope. She needs to remember exactly who she is, exactly who she's always been expected to be. She can't afford to break, now more than ever, when she actually has a shot at ending this nightmare once and for all. She just needs to  _ fucking breathe. _

_ Breathe. _

She steadies herself. 

Sitting still, she better recognizes the pain in her head, how dirty she is, the blood on her palms and on her clothes. The stitch in her side, the stinging that won't go away, shortness of breath that won't stop no matter how deeply she inhales. She's hurt, possibly even very badly, but she can't for the life of her figure out how, or what was done to her. It all just feels like a blur of a nightmare, the blunt sounds of smacking, fuzzy vision, ringing in her ears, and a voice that she knows all too well telling her to  _ get up, get the fuck up, look at me. You know exactly what you did. You know exactly why this had to happen. You pushed me into a corner and I had no other choice. _

And she listened. Because for four years she was taught to listen to her superiors.

She stands up on shaky feet and needs to grip the sink for support, thinking it's a miracle she ran here in the first place. An ache of pain shoots down her spine, through her legs, but still she stands, all the way up until finally,  _ finally,  _ she can see herself in the mirror again.

It's the first time she's caught a glimpse of herself in a month. And now, she doesn't even recognize herself.

If asked who she was, Leslie herself wouldn't be able to tell you, only seeing a stranger in front of her. Not even her eyes look the same, losing that once open and hopeful quality into something that's empty, like she really has been dead all this time. Her hair no longer looks as bright as it should be, lying flat and damp and dirty, spots of red strewn throughout. Her face, even, has streaks of blood across it, blood that she knows to be her own, some looking dried and others looking far too fresh to be bypassed.

She looks like she walked straight out of hell.

Trying not to cry, she turns the sink on and wets her hands, scrubbing herself quickly. She wrings out her sleeves and splashes her face, rubbing until the water is tinged pink, though never clear. She doesn't need to be perfect, she just needs the blood gone from her face and her nails. She’ll deal with the rest later, when she's in a safer place.

After she's made a call.

Her clothes are still bloodstained and she still looks helpless and homeless, but it's the best she can do. She dabs at the cuts on her face, drinks as much running water from the sink as she can to soothe her dry throat, and resolves to keep going, to find some kind of phone before the sun comes up, before she loses her will and collapses.

She walks only five minutes down the dimly lit street before she finds it.

A twenty-four hour diner has never before looked so appealing to her, not even when she knew there was fresh coffee and waffles waiting for her. No, this one is unfamiliar and yet looks practically heaven-sent, making her groan with delight, stumbling through the door to empty chairs and empty tables, too bright lights and only one employee sitting behind the counter.

“Hello?” Leslie calls out, her voice hoarse. “Hi, I'm so sorry, but—”

“Are you alright?” The waitress asks, looking Leslie up and down. She feels suddenly self-conscious, wrapping her arms around her body to hide the bloodstain sitting on her torso. “I can get you a table—”

“Oh, no, no,” she interrupts. “No, I don't need to eat.” Well, she actually really  _ does,  _ but she has bigger things to worry about right now. “I was actually just wondering if you… if you had a phone I could borrow.”

“Oh.” The waitress looks a little disappointed, but not exactly surprised, given Leslie’s state. “Yeah, yeah, there's a phone in the manager’s office in the back you can use. Just right back there.”

Leslie crosses to where she's pointing, thanking her as she goes, and finds herself standing alone in an office inside a diner, staring at a black phone, wondering once again how she got here. But she's so close now, so goddamn close, she can literally touch it. One call, and she can actually…

Her first choice is obvious.

Nobody in this world is as close to Leslie as Ann. Ann, who she's known since the fourth grade, when they sat together in the park and talked about the trees. Ann, who has been there for everything,  _ literally everything,  _ from disastrous first period stories, break ups, bad test scores, losing her virginity  _ (“Mark, Leslie? Are you serious? I know damn well he didn't get you off—”),  _ to Student Council, defending her in fights in the hallway, standing by her side no matter who tried to take Leslie down. More family than even her family has ever been.

Leslie just really,  _ really  _ misses Ann.

She's known Ann's number since they both received phones in the sixth grade, so Leslie dials the number and brings the phone up to her ear, trying to ignore the shaking of her palms, the way her heart rate increases with every dull ring. 

Nothing.

Only one call, and Leslie feels like she could cry. But why should she have expected anything else, really? It's minutes from midnight, and it's a number Ann wouldn't recognize. Ann has always been an early sleeper, and it's not as if it's likely she would pick up even if she miraculously was awake.

For a moment, she starts to panic. 

She goes through her short mental list of people she can call, but she falls short. She either doesn't remember their number or she never received one in the first place, and god, she really doesn't want to have to resort to…

She freezes with her hand on the phone, choking on a sob.

Because it strikes her that she doesn't want to call her mother. Above all else, she doesn't even want to attempt to call up Marlene, whether she answers or not. And Leslie knows, in her heart of hearts, that her mother wouldn't answer. She probably wouldn't pick up even if her name was attached to the number. Because Leslie’s never really been a daughter to her, instead something more like a long-since bypassed project, something she gave up on long ago when she realized they were not one in the same. Leslie was far more optimistic, idealistic, dreaming big, with a kind of unrestrained ambition that Marlene could never take seriously. No, if anything, Marlene is probably almost annoyed that Leslie’s gone missing, because it means she's dragged away from work and forced to focus on something other than herself for a while.

It strikes Leslie that she can't trust her mother.

Can't trust her to pick up, can't trust her to care, can't trust her to come find her if she was asked. She wouldn't stop everything to come pick up her daughter, never in a million years, and especially not if she's busy like she always is. 

Leslie won't call her. She won't. And it breaks her heart, but she knows it'll be worse if she even tries. No, this isn't a moment for Marlene.

But  _ god,  _ what other numbers does she have—

Oh.

_ Oh. _

She has one other number memorized.

It's imprinted in her brain, really, something she can't forget even if she tried. It's like it's a part of her now, just begging to be used one day, too sacred and too terrified to take the leap of ever putting it in her phone. Because it was too hopeful, maybe, too close for comfort, too real, and because Ann never let her. 

Her own words echo in her head.

_ Do you doubt my memorization, Wyatt? _

It's sitting there waiting for her, and this feels like the ultimate test. Will he even care? They didn't exactly part ways on the best of terms… They never had the cleanest record together. But still… 

He picks up his phone all the time. Some habit he's kept up, he told her once. And she knew then and knows now that he was lying, he only said that to get at her, but  _ still.  _ Ever since then she's always seen him pick up his phone. So if he's not asleep now, he might just…

Leslie wants to see him. She aches to see him, really, to hear his voice again, soft next to her ear, saying her name. She wants to wrap herself around him and whisper apologies into his skin, sinking into him and his scent that she knows all too well. She wants to tell him that she's liked him since he stood up to Mark for her sophomore year, that she's loved him since that stupid spin-the-bottle kiss junior year. She wants to beg him to lay their weapons down, to put away this silly fight, to allow each other to love and be loved.

It's foolish to think. He said it himself. And maybe it's just as foolish to call him now, but Leslie has been a fool for four years, and she's not going to stop now.

So she dials Ben Wyatt’s number.

It rings for so long that she actually starts to cry, grabbing the desk in front of her so tightly that he knuckles turn white. She's begging him, just under her breath, pleading over and over to whatever higher being that he might answer, because she's so entirely out of options. And just as she feels she might break, she might give in entirely and let herself die outside this diner, the ringing stops, and that all-too-familiar voice snaps in her ear.

“What do you want?”

It's a cruel hiss, an irritated one, and yet it almost makes her faint with relief. It's  _ familiar  _ to her, a voice that reminds her of passing through the hallways, Student Council debates, Model UN, Tom’s closet. It's so precious to her that for a moment, all she can say is his name, slipping from her lips, sweet on her tongue.

_ “Ben,”  _ she gasps, more of a desperate whine than anything else, rushed and deadly quiet.  _ “Ben.”  _

There's silence on the other end for just a moment, and she starts to wonder if he recognizes her at all. If he's already forgotten her, lost in his summer break, thrilled he doesn't have to deal with her anymore, but then just as quickly there's a choking gasp, and his voice comes out strained, tired, almost tearful.

_ “Leslie,”  _ he cries, unrestrained. “Leslie, is that—”

“Yes,” she answers quickly, and it occurs to her she has some sort of time limit. She can't hang out in the back of this diner forever. “It's me. Listen, I really need your—”

“We all thought you were dead.  _ You were dead.” _

This makes her pause. Ben’s voice is full of emotion, a kind she's never heard in him before, something so deeply broken that he's almost unrecognizable. And he claims she was  _ dead. _

“I was kidnapped,” she tells him. “But not—”

“No,  _ no.  _ Oh god, I saw the pictures. I saw…  _ you were dead, Leslie.” _

“Pictures? What are you talking about?”

_ Pictures. _

It's only vague, but she remembers the flash of a camera, trained on her when she was barely awake. Her eyes shut, covered in red, barely capable of moving, and she realizes, suddenly, that to all the world she might've looked dead if those pictures got sent out. Everyone really thought she was  _ gone. _

“We all saw pictures,” Ben tells her, and she can still hear him crying into the phone. “We all did, Leslie, all of Pawnee. You looked dead, covered in… you were  _ dead.  _ The police pronounced you dead, Leslie,  _ they held a funeral for you.” _

A shiver runs down her spine, something twisting in her gut. “A funeral… oh god,  _ god.  _ When?”

“Today. Holy fuck… I only just got back. People spoke. Everyone was there, all of Pawnee. There were flowers in your fucking  _ casket  _ and people spoke, every student and every teacher—”

_ “Wait.”  _ There it is, the feeling as if she's going to be sick, fighting to keep her bile away. She gasps, a deep, clarifying breath, and suddenly she  _ understands.  _ “The whole school was there? Every teacher?”

“Everyone. I'm just… I can’t…  _ I thought I was never going to see you again.” _

There's a deep aching in his voice, something pleading, and she's never heard him quite so vulnerable. He keeps mumbling her name, repeating the same thing, how she was dead, gone, to all of Pawnee, and she just wants to give in. But the pieces are coming together in her mind, and she realizes now that she's actually very lucky she was presumed dead— the only reason she could escape tonight is because her captor left for an event, that being  _ her own funeral.  _ To keep up appearances, of course. To pretend he cares, maybe cry a little, keep the blame away from himself. And of fucking  _ course  _ it's working.

She wants to be angry. She wants to throw things, even, and demand Ben tell her more, but then his voice shudders, and he utters three words she never thought she would hear from him.

“I missed you,” Ben says. “I really fucking  _ missed you.” _

It stuns her into silence, even, hearing those words, because not even after her disappearance would she have expected them. It was never going to be like this, it wasn't even supposed to be, was it? It was too late for them. They had made their mistakes and tried to move on. 

He can't say that. He can't say that he misses her, not after years of fighting each other and calling each other names and acting like there was nothing but hate between them. No, he can't do that now.

She cries again.

“You did?”

“God, you have no idea. I've just… I’ve been… we've all been losing our minds. This doesn't even feel real. I didn't believe it for a long time, you know, that you were dead. I couldn't believe it, it didn't seem right. I was just… I was just living on hope alone, and even Ann told me I was crazy—”

“Wait, what? Ann? My Ann? Ann Perkins?”

“Yes, Ann— uh, we both missed you. More than you know. And this… hearing your voice, it means everything to me.” He pauses there, and a very heavy silence fills the air, and for a moment it feels like she's actually in the room with him. She can smell his cologne and see the way his hair rises up in the back, like he slept on it wrong. She can picture his button-up shirts and his arms crossing over his chest and his fingers rising to massage his brow when he's stressed. She can feel his palm on her hip, feathering across her waist, whispering in her ear that  _ he missed her.  _

She needs to get back as soon as possible.

“Ben,” she says again, reveling in the sound of his name on her tongue. “I need you to listen to me very closely, okay? Can you help me?”

_ “Anything,”  _ he replies. “Seriously, anything at all, I'm there. Who did this, anyway?—”

She cuts him off, if only because there's no time yet to recount the whole story. And god, is it a long story. “Then can you come get me? Maybe tell Ann too. I don't want to freak her out, but I need her to know I'm okay. I'm not dead. And I need help.”

“Anything,” he repeats, and she can hear him shuffling around, presumably to get some paper and a pen. “Where are you? Can you tell? Are you still trapped? What happened?”

“I escaped. I ran for a while, so I think I'm far enough away. I'm in a twenty-four hour diner, right now.” She looks over her shoulder in the tiny office, as if expecting the waitress to be eavesdropping. “And don't tell the cops, Ben, do you understand?” She knows well enough by now that the cops are not on her side, and they never have been. She's known for years they're nothing but bastards, too lazy to find her, and there's no time to wait on them to get her now. There's no  _ trust.  _

“God, of course not. No, fuck the cops, they don't need to know. Can you tell me where you are? Do you know?”

“Uhhh, I'm not sure. I don't even know the city. One second.” She looks around the office, looking for some kind of sign, anything at all, to show her where she is. There's a logo for the diner, which is a start. “I know the diner is called Pop’s Diner. I'll be around there. And the city…” Leslie winces, dropping the phone to run towards the desk, shuffling through the piles of papers, and finally landing on a newspaper, one for the city, breathing an intense sigh of relief.  _ “Indianapolis.  _ Thank god, it's just Indianapolis. I thought it might've been much farther.”

She hears the slight scratch that proves to her Ben is writing this all down, and once again, she allows herself to feel it— a slight bit of  _ hope.  _ Ben lived on hope alone while Leslie had none, and it transfers to her now, close to her heart, making her feel that much warmer, that much lighter.

_ Leslie’s gonna get to go home. _

_ Back to Pawnee. _

“I can work with that,” Ben replies with a sniffle, clearly trying to recover from the tears. “Yeah, I’ll be right there, I promise. I can do that. I can do anything for you.”

“Thank you,” she tells him, her heart swelling. “Thank you, thank you, you'll really be here?”

“Of course I'll be there.” And Leslie can't see him, but she knows that he's smiling, his hand pressed to his chest. “I promise.”

And with just that,  _ just that,  _ everything changes between Leslie and Ben. Everything. As if everything before has been forgotten in light of this new journey, they can no longer afford to fight or waste time on petty matters. Because life is precious, maybe, because you never know when people might leave you. You never know when the words you say to someone might be the last they ever hear.

So, just in case, she offers Ben the very best last words she can ever give him.

_ “I trust you.” _

They both hang up with a quick whisper from Ben of “I won't let you down,” and then he's gone, and it's silent again, as if he was never there at all. But his words echo in her ears, rattling in her brain, trying to comfort her where before she had nothing at all. His words and his voice envelop her like a hug, warm wool to brave the cold season, fighting back against her deepest and darkest thoughts until they seem farther away, and it's  _ just enough. _

Leslie trusts Ben, right? She  _ trusts him.  _ Maybe not with a relationship, or even a friendship— that's still pending. But this? She prays that she can do this. She prays that she didn't offer Ben empty words, that she can actually follow through, but her trust is just so hard to find these days, and it occurs to her that she really just trusts Ben to  _ try,  _ but not exactly to succeed.

Trying not to be terrified again, she sets the phone down and collects herself, making her way out of the office. She can't stay here forever.

“You sure you don't want anything to eat?” The waitress asks when Leslie reappears, holding a jug of water in her hands. And despite the fact that she's severely dehydrated and absolutely starving, she just shakes her head, her hair brushing her shoulders.

“I don't have any money anyway,” she tells her. “But thank you.”

So Leslie leaves, the diner door chiming behind her to announce her departure. And she doesn't look back. She tries to forget how blissfully warm it was in there, and how cold it is outside in the dead of the night, despite it being July. She tries to forget that she's got nowhere to sleep, and it's so late, and it's entirely possible that nobody will be here for hours.

She's bleeding, and freezing, with nowhere to stay, and it's possible, even, that she could actually be dead by the time anyone gets here.

As much as she wants to wait up for Ben, she has difficulty. She walks along the side of the diner down a dirty little alleyway, walking until she can't anymore, which isn't anymore than ten steps. It took all her energy left to run away and call Ben, and it all escapes her now, leaving her so quickly, and she fully collapses in the alleyway, curled up against the brick wall, and she can't move.

It's just enough for her to press her hand to her stomach and feel her palm come away wet, a reopened wound that's threatening to break her now, bleeding slowly, and her vision starts to fade.

The alley grows even darker, even dirtier, with her cheek to the floor, concealed in the dirt. There's a ringing in her ears, killing her slowly, and only one thing can cut out the sound—

_ I can do anything for you. _

_ Of course I'll be there. _

_ I promise. _

She hears Ben’s voice as she slips into unconsciousness, the feel of his promise still lingering on her lips. He’ll come for her. He will.

_ He’ll come back to me. _


	17. Chapter 17

Even though he's shaking so badly that it's a miracle his phone is still in his hand, Ben knows there's no time to lose. 

His face is red, violent tears streaming down his cheeks, refusing to fade away, coming harder and harder with each passing moment. Leslie’s voice fills his ears even after she's gone, and for a moment, a terrible moment, it all feels like a cruel dream.

Ben sits at the edge of his bed, gripping his pillow with an intense force, trying to remind himself that it's real.  _ It’s real.  _

_ Leslie is alive. _

She’s alive, and not only that, but he knows where she is. He can actually find her, it's  _ real.  _ It's not some sick and twisted dream that's trying to get his hopes up, not his subconscious trying to manifest an ideal outcome, no, it's real. Its real and she's waiting for him in Indianapolis. She trusts him.

And she could be hurt.  _ No,  _ she  _ is  _ hurt. Even if she's not dead, Ben saw the pictures. She’s likely battered and bloody and bruised, and it's the middle of the night after she's run away with nowhere to stay. Just the fact that she found a way to call him is a miracle.

_ (It strikes him then, in the back of his mind, that this means she's had his number memorized all these years, but that's not something he can focus on right now, not fully.) _

Leslie is hurt, that's just a fact, he saw the pictures. She’s  _ alive,  _ but he saw the pictures, and she definitely won't be for long if he doesn't get some back up and get the hell over to Indianapolis.

No, there's no time to lose at all.

Even despite his shaking fingers, he manages to sit himself back up and hold his phone tightly in his hands, opening it again to go to his messages. Trying to find the words, he says  _ screw it  _ and creates a group chat with everyone— Ann and Jen, Andy and Tom, April, Jean-Ralphio, and Donna. Praying that someone,  _ anyone,  _ will be awake, he tells the quickest story of his life.

_ 'EMERGENCY. I need help. I need people for a road trip tonight. Meet at my house ASAP. THIS IS A MATTER OF LIFE AND DEATH.’ _

And, realizing that there's a very real possibility he won't get any response unless he provides more detail, he adds one last thing:

_ 'This is for Leslie. Do this for her. She needs us.’ _

And all that's left to do is sit back and wait.

It drives him crazy, leaping up and pacing around his room, setting his phone volume up as high as it can go so he doesn't miss a thing. He can't just  _ wait  _ here. He can't do nothing. She might be actively dying right this second, and every moment wasted sitting here in his room is another moment closer to her really being gone.

_ Ben only just got her back.  _ He can't lose her again.

Nearly screaming in frustration at the lack of immediate responses, he takes his energy out by pulling clothes from his closet. He'd rather not go on this road trip in his finest suit from the funeral, which he's yet to take off. He strips it off in quick fashion, throwing the pieces around the room, feeling like he can breathe just a little bit more as soon as his tie is gone. In fact, he gasps for breath, trying to keep himself in control, trying to be calm. But his heart is racing, his palms are sweaty, it's difficult to keep moving but it's impossible to sit still. He changes into soft jeans and an old t-shirt by some miracle, the motions of which he's sure he’ll never properly remember, and just as he's slipping on his boots, he hears it.

The sound of a  _ chime,  _ a message sent back to him.

He practically lunges for his phone, falling and rolling onto his bed. He's moving so quickly that he drops the phone to his chest, fumbling for it again to reach the group chat.  _ Andy. _

_ ‘Me and April are up, man. We can be there. Should we bring Burt Macklin and Janet Snakehole?’ _

It's a silly thing, just their alter egos, but Ben’s heart swells, remembering his own, brought back all the way to middle school and freshman year. Unable to keep the stupid grin off his face, he texts back.

_ 'Please, bring both. We’re gonna need them. In fact, it's even a job for Municipal Bond.’ _

It's the line that sells Andy, who texts back immediately with far too many exclamation marks tacked on at the end.

_ ‘YES! The team is back together again! We’ll be right there for our mission, boss man.’ _

Ben breathes a sigh of relief. At least Andy and April makes two more, so he's not alone. Even if everyone else is asleep…

No. No, he needs more. No matter what, he can't leave out  _ Ann. Ann needs to know.  _ She's not answering, and he's not sure how long he can wait, but how is he going to get to her in the first place? If she's asleep, she won't even answer her phone. In fact, Ben’s nearly certain Leslie herself tried that, and then called Ben because she came up empty. She won't see any texts either. And yet, even if she does, would she even come? They didn't exactly share a very shining moment together at Leslie’s funeral.

Will Ann even believe him when he says that Leslie is alive? That he actually  _ knows where she is?  _ Or is she too far gone? It's entirely possible that this little flame of hope that's sprung from the ashes is not enough to share with Ann, and she won't be able to accept it. She's grown too used to living in the cold to be able to feel even the slightest hint of warmth.

_ Fine.  _ Then Ben will just have to go get her himself.

Banking on Andy and April running a little late, as they so frequently do, Ben sneaks downstairs and out the house, reveling in the cool midnight air and the rush of doing  _ something,  _ something so huge and so monumental as to save someone’s life. It makes him feel like he's no longer standing still, but actually being productive, and he really can't do this without Ann. He needs her to believe him—  _ Leslie  _ needs her to believe him.

He hops in his car and thanks the entire universe that the Perkins house isn't far. And when he stands on the doorstep, he doesn't even think about how it might bother the rest of her family, he just raises his fist and pounds, and plans on pounding until he gets an answer. There's bigger things to worry about than ruining someone's sleep tonight.

His knocking continues on for a little too long, and for a sick, horrible moment, he thinks this is it. He thinks he's not even going to get to tell Ann her  _ best friend is alive,  _ she’ll wake up tomorrow still thinking she's dead and gone and she’ll never see her again. And Ben… he can't have her waiting that long. He knows the nightmares will come for Ann and he cares about her too much at this point to let that happen to her. Thinking Leslie was dead even for a week was hell enough… she shouldn't have to go even one more night.

And right as he's about to scream up to her window to get her attention, her front door opens, and there she stands. Not her parents, thank god, but Ann, standing in sweats and a tank top, her hair pulled up, her eyes red in a way that clearly shows she hasn't stopped crying for hours, and sleep has been hell. She sniffles when she sees him, eyes going wide, wiping at her cheek.

“Ben,” she starts, her voice raw and hoarse. “Ben, I told you, I can't do this. I don't—”

_ “Leslie is alive,”  _ he gasps, unable to stop himself. It's the worst possible way to open, because of course,  _ of course  _ she won't believe him. Of course he’ll just sound like the hopeful lunatic that he was at the funeral. He can already see her eyes darkening, taking a step further back into her house.

“Ben, I cant… I can't do this. It's too  _ hard.  _ It's already taken me so long to believe it, to accept it, and now I just need to… I need time, just for—”

_ “No,”  _ he cuts her off again. “She's actually alive. I'm not just saying that because I’m guessing. She  _ called me.” _

Ann’s face instantly changes, and he sees it— that instant, tiny flicker of hope across her features that she's trying so hard to keep at bay. But it's just enough to pull from, just enough to let him know that she's not too far gone. 

“Stop lying,” she says, but her voice shakes with doubt. “Don't say that. That's impossible.”

“She  _ did,  _ Ann. I didn't think it was possible either. But after I got home, I got a call, and it was her voice. She told me to get you, and she gave me an idea of where she is.”

“That's not possible, we saw the pictures—”

“She wasn't dead in those pictures.” They come to mind again, dark and haunting, still so terrifying, but a little less unnerving now that he knows she's still breathing. “She was just hurt, badly. But she escaped, and she needs us to go get her right now. I promised her, Ann.”

Ann still doesn't look entirely convinced, clutching at her stomach and staring at Ben as if she's seen a ghost. She's crying again, the tears streaming down her cheeks, but she slowly starts to walk a little closer to him, as if she might just let herself believe. He knows she wants to.  _ Of course she wants to. _

“She tried to call you.” Ben’s just guessing here, but why wouldn't she? He would never be her very first call, not after everything, and certainly not the only number she has memorized. “Before she called me, she tried to call you, didn't she? But you were asleep. Check your phone, I’d bet anything you have a missed call from an unknown number.”

At first, Ann looks like she doesn't even want to try. She flinches, her chin trembling, before slowly flexing her fingers out to her phone in her pocket. He knows exactly what it hits her. She turns her phone on and  _ instantly  _ her eyes go wide, staring at the screen, jumping backwards and nearly dropping it. A whimper escapes her, holding her phone to her heart. Ben only quirks a single brow.

“Well?” he asks.

“Ben,” she hisses, so very cautious, like a warning. “Do you absolutely swear to me that you actually spoke to her? She said it was her, and she asked you to do this? You  _ know  _ it was her?”

He doesn't hesitate. “I promise. I swear to you, this is real. She needs you, Ann.”

“Okay. Then… then I trust you.” She releases a great breath that she's likely been holding for a week, then reaches inside to grab a red flannel resting on the couch. “You better be right about this, Wyatt, or I’ll send you to the cops myself. You understand? Let's go.”

“Oh, I— you're ready to go?” She's only throwing her flannel on over her tank-top, shoving her phone, her keys, and what looks like pepper spray into the pockets of her sweatpants. “Right now?”

“Yes,  _ now.  _ Is anyone else awake and coming?”

“I almost forgot, actually. Andy and April oughta be at my place any minute now.”

“Great,” Ann sighs. “Because they both totally love me. They better bring things to defend myself.”

At that, Ben just has to laugh. “Do you really doubt April Ludgate wouldn't take any chance to bring a knife somewhere?”

…

Ben’s right— April has knives.

Two of them, to be exact, one that's particularly scary. She keeps both strapped to her hip under her jacket, patting it gently, before hoisting up her backpack full of snacks that Andy has insisted on bringing. Probably for the best, if Ben’s honest.

“Dude, check it out,” Andy says, as soon as Ben and Ann pull up to his house to see the pair waiting there. “I'm bringing in the power of Burt Macklin, but  _ also  _ my new character, Johnny Karate. He's like, a super powerful, super awesome karate ninja who can chop down bad guys. That's what we’re doing, right?”

“Yeah, you didn't exactly explain much,” April adds, crossing her arms. He can tell she's trying to look as nonchalant as possible, but even she is failing. Even she is exhausted from the funeral, her eyes bloodshot, a slight tremble in her fingers as she adjusts her belt. “Just road trip, life or death, Leslie.” April’s voice catches a little on Leslie's name, very poorly concealed. “You said this is for Leslie. That she needs us. Did you find out who…” she chokes again. “Did you find out who killed her?”

“No,” Ben says. “No, because she's not dead.”

April doesn't look convinced. Actually, she looks sad, like she's genuinely pitying him. “Ben…”

“No, don’t. I'm serious. I already told Ann but she called me. She's in Indianapolis. And we have to go save her.”

Ben expects much more of a fight, just like with Ann, but instead both April and Andy break out into incredulous grins, looking back at each other and nodding. Instantly, relief floods through his system, and that flame of hope is back and bigger than ever. Enough to keep him warm.

“Dude,” Andy exclaims, grabbing a hold of April. “Then we gotta get to Indianapolis right now.”

“Good thing I brought my knives,” April adds.

From there, it's a rush of activity. Andy and April climb into the back of Ben’s car, pulling out snacks from their backpack already, insisting that they’ll be establishing a game plan for when they get there. Ann takes the passenger seat, gripping her phone tightly in her lap, while Ben starts up his car, inserting his keys. He catches Ann staring out the window, seemingly lost.

“Hey,” he says to her, and she jerks up a little, finding his eyes.

“What's up?"

“Stay with me, okay?” He’s pleading with her more than anything, because he needs her right now. It's funny, really, how Ann Perkins has become his best friend, and he needs his best friend now more than ever, to ground him when he, too, wants to slip away. They have to be here for each other, hold on tight and not let go. “Stay present, don't think too hard. Will you be my GPS?”

Her smile is small, but it reaches her eyes. She pulls up the address on her phone, setting it up, sitting a little straighter. “Yeah,” she exhales, breathing deeply. “Yeah, I've got your back, Wyatt.”

“And I’ve got yours, Perkins.”

The drive isn't exactly long, but it feels longer with the adrenaline pumping through their bodies, the fear keeping them on their toes. Andy and April talk in the back about battle strategy, coming up with absolutely ridiculous and nonsensical plans for what they might do if someone catches them, or if Leslie’s captor comes back. That being said, the group also asks for details on Ben’s call with Leslie. He's choked up the entire time he talks about, trying to keep his eyes on the road and forcing himself not to tear up.

“She said she trusts me,” he finishes with a lump in his throat. And while Andy and April both shrug the comment off, Ann looks at him out of the corner of her eye. She watches him for a while, while he pretends not to notice, paying special attention through the sign in the dark that says they're officially leaving Pawnee.

She doesn't say anything to him, doesn't make a comment. No, Ann is oddly quiet, seemingly at peace, only speaking up to give him directions from the map on her phone. But Ben knows it means something to her, all of this. She's just working up the nerve to say more.

The night gets darker, it gets harder to drive, forcing his eyes open. He's exhausted, really, from sleeping too little lately. He's been keeping himself up for a week, ever since he was told Leslie was dead, ever since he saw the pictures. But not because he was incapable of sleep, but rather because he didn't  _ want  _ to. He couldn't, because he knew every time he closed his eyes he would see that picture, imagine the last little light of life leaving her body, the final exhale as she goes. It's coming back to bite him now, as he has to force himself to stay up, thinking about her fingers going limp and the color leaving her eyes. It doesn't go away,  _ it doesn't ever go away. _

“Ben?”

He jumps at her voice. Maybe because he was half asleep at the wheel, or maybe because she hasn't said it in over an hour. He realizes, vaguely, that the car is silent, no longer filled with knife throwing techniques and the different kinds of take someone down with karate chops. Actually, it sounds like Andy is  _ snoring,  _ glancing back just quick enough to see him and April curled up together, breathing softly.

“They've been out for maybe fifteen minutes,” Ann says, watching him closely. Ben shuffles in his seat, getting a better grip on the steering wheel. “Are you okay? You look pale.”

“I'm fine,” he lies quickly, refusing to look at her for too long. “Just… just tired.”

“You haven't been sleeping again.”

“I…” He can't deny it, he can't find it in himself to deny it. “Yeah. Okay, yeah. But I couldn't.”

Ann smiles sadly. “Because you saw her every time, didn't you?”

Ben nods, his throat tight.

“Me too.” And then she's silent, eerily silent, for far too long. She stares at her lap as they travel down the road, moving straight for miles. They're getting closer, closer every minute, and he can  _ feel it.  _ There's a chill on his skin, goosebumps up his arm, as if his body can already tell he's almost to Leslie. “Can we talk about her?”

The question takes Ben by surprise, jolting him up again. “Uh— what?”

“Can we talk about her, maybe?” Ann asks. “Please? I just… I just need to stop thinking about her dead and start talking about her as  _ alive  _ right now. I can't be lost in my own thoughts.”

He wants to say no, at first, because he's scared. Because he doesn't know how to talk about her without getting emotional, or starting to tear up, and he can't afford to lose himself now. But he looks at Ann in his peripheral vision and he sees himself in her. He sees himself in the way her eyes are dull, with purple bags underneath them, ready to tear out her hair. He knows full well what it's like to sit with his emotions and allow them to fester, building up and up but unable to let it explode, so instead they rot and die inside of you. Instead they ruin you, offer you your darkest thoughts, turning you into something you don't even recognize. And he can't, he just  _ can't  _ let Ann get any worse. She's already been through enough. 

“Yeah,” he replies, swallowing hard. “We can talk about her.”

“I miss her.” She doesn't hesitate in saying it. “God, I… I really miss her. And I feel like I might've taken it for granted having her around, because I've been best friends with her since we were little and I could never imagine Leslie  _ not  _ being there, you know? She was just… a constant.”

Ben knows the feeling very well, just in a different way than she does. And he wonders, then, what it would be like to live on Leslie Knope’s good side. To be someone she loved and cared for. “When did you meet her?”

“We were nine.” The beginning of the story comes with a tiny smile on Ann’s face, and he feels glad to have asked her. “We met at the park, actually, at the very start of fourth grade. We weren't even in the same class, but we were both in Ramsett Park for this after school event, and I remember being really upset that there was this pit right on the edge of the park, away from the playground. I was scared someone was going to fall in it, and I remember warning…  _ Andy,  _ I think, I remember warning Andy to stay away from it, because he was a clumsy mess even back then. And then all of a sudden this… this tiny blonde kid comes running up, all elbows and passion, and she listens to me about this pit when no one else will. And she gets even more heated than I was, really. She starts going on this really intense rant where I swore she almost blacked out because she forgot to breathe. She went up to all the teachers and got a petition signed and everything, she didn't stop until this stupid little pit that I hated so much was filled in. Even since then, for the rest of the year, we would meet in that park, near that pit, and talk about it, and the trees, and the bird feeders. I learned she loved parks more than anything. She could spend all day in a park if she had no other responsibilities. I learned her favorite food is waffles, and she had an addiction to sugar that I definitely tried to reel in a little. I learned she was going to the same middle school as me, and we were eleven when we decided we were going to be best friends forever. And we ended up going to the same high school, where we made a pact to stick together, no matter what. Each other first. We defended each other against jerks and helped each other with homework. I told her I was a lesbian when we were fourteen. I was so, so scared, completely terrified, because I hadn't told anyone yet, and I couldn't stand the thought of losing her. But you know what she did? She hugged me. She hugged me so tightly and told me… she told me,  _ ‘Oh Ann, you perfect sunflower, no matter what, I’ll always love you just the same. I'll always support you. You're still the same Ann Perkins.’  _ And I just remember sobbing for hours in her room, because we knew her mother wouldn't bother us. And she told me she thought she might be bisexual because the girl she sat next to in math was  _ very  _ pretty, and she wasn't sure if she was attracted to her or if she just wanted a distraction from the horrors of math. So we helped each other out. She found out that she was bisexual, and she supported me when I was crushing on Jen and didn't know how to say anything. We confessed about our terrible first times, all our secrets, every little thing. We got drunk and kissed each other just for fun, just because we could, and because it made boys uncomfortable. We would eat together at JJ’s Diner every Friday after school and then spend the night together talking about everything and nothing. She totally changed me, you know. She taught me how to balance my life, how to be patient. I taught her to be… more patient. She helped me with Jen and I helped her throw caution to the wind when it came to yelling at you. And she yelled at you a lot. I only encouraged it. Even when she told me she liked you, I wanted to keep her at an arm's length. I didn't trust you, because I didn't know you, and I thought you were using her. I think I even told you once, when you and I first met, that Leslie was a good person, unlike you. I remember hearing about you and being so angry that anybody could look at Leslie and not see just how purely good she was. She's always been so bright. She made me a more positive person. The hope she has… it's infectious. Even now, I can feel it, even though we just got back from her funeral and she's not even supposed to be alive. I feel it anyway, because if it were me, she would've never given up. And getting to know you recently, I think she rubbed off on you, too, Wyatt. That's why you have this much hope. And I can see…  _ everything,  _ so much more clearly now. Because I think we will find her. And, for the record, I also think you're a good person. You're a  _ good person,  _ Ben.”

And Ben is crying, unable to stop himself, focusing in on every little detail of Leslie’s life that he never got to be a part of. Living vicariously through her stories, trying to imagine it, trying to picture a world where he became her friend their first day of school by the lockers instead of her enemy. “I'm not,” he chokes, not even meaning to say it. But he knows he means it. “I'm not a good person. A good person doesn't make life hell for another person for four years of their life. I'm not… I don't deserve that.”

Ann keeps shaking her head, and for some godforsaken reason, she's not crying at all. She's strangely calm, something soft and delicate, something reassured. “No, don't say that. I know more than I ever let on, you know. She told me a lot of things about the two of you. But when you only ever hear things from one side of the story, it builds a narrative that stacked against you. I get it now, though, I get why she didn't want to do it anymore.”

“She didn't?”

“Don't act like you don't know, Ben. She didn't hate you. Not even close. It started to kill her, to fight with you, she absolutely hated it. And she’d come sobbing to me wondering why you hated her so much. She told me about Tom’s closet months ago. I held her while she cried about how it meant nothing to you, because it meant everything to her. But it didn't mean nothing to you, did it?”

He thinks of that morning, finding her in just his t-shirt and her underwear curled up into his side. He never told anyone, but his hand had been in hers. Their fingers were intertwined together, held against his chest, against his  _ heart,  _ her thumb gently stroking his skin in her sleep. Something so deeply intimate, too soft to exist between them, too terrifying to ever speak into the universe. He woke up that morning and for a moment, just a split second, he thought to himself that if he woke up like this every morning for the rest of his life, he would be okay with that.

And then it was gone, so fleeting, barely there at all, but lingering with the goosebumps on his hand.

“No,” he admits, staring blankly out at the road. “No, it didn't mean nothing to me. It meant… everything. But I couldn't tell her that. I didn't think that she… It seemed impossible. Like it could never work. And I couldn't bear the idea of her breaking my heart.”

Ann is silent again, his words sinking in, leaving nothing but the sound of his steady driving and Andy’s snoring. He thinks, for a moment, that the conversation is over, and that they’ll ride quietly until they reach the diner, but then she shifts again, taking a deep breath.

“You told me once that when we got Leslie back, you would tell her the truth,” Ann says, looking up from her lap to watch him. “But you never told me what the  _ truth  _ is.”

Ben swallows hard, and he knows exactly what's coming before she even says it.

“You love her, don't you?”

He takes a moment, staring out at the dark stretch of road ahead of them. In the distance, there are city lights.

“Yes,” he whispers. “I do.”

… 

Pop’s Diner is a small, quiet thing that looks like it's come straight from a retro comic book. They arrive as it's nearly three in the morning, and all the lights are still on, neon signs in the windows indicating that they're open all day, every day. There's one or two people sitting inside even now, judging through the glass windows, and Ben pulls up near the front, Ann jerking Andy and April awake.

“Okay, we need a game plan,” he says as April rubs the sleep from her eyes, Andy already jumping up with excitement. “We can't just all barge in there and ask about Leslie.”

“Oooh, someone needs to keep watch,” Andy exclaims, his eyes wide, rubbing his quickly growing stubble on his cheeks. “Like, this needs to be a getaway car. We gotta keep it running like they do in the movies.”

“Great idea,” Ben nods. “You do that, Andy. Sit in the driver's seat, okay? Keep the car running and be ready to book it as soon as we’re all inside with the doors closed. Okay?”

He's scared Andy might object to being away from the action, but he seems to have worded this just right, because he only pumps his fist in the air and slips out of his seatbelt.  _ “Yes!”  _ he practically shouts. “What about you guys?”

“April, stand guard outside the car. Yes, keep your knives on you. Warn Andy if anyone is coming and warn us if there's danger.”

“Do I have permission to stab people who try and get in the way of our operation?” April asks, a brow quirking. Ben sighs, waving her off.

“Yes, yes, fine. Do what you need to if it means keeping everyone safe. And Ann and I are gonna go looking.  _ Remember to be careful.  _ Her captor probably knows she's gone by now and could be looking for her.”

They all nod, shake hands, and part their separate ways, trying to ignore the shaking of their palms. Andy slips into the driver's seat, and April takes her place a couple feet from the car, while Ann decides to first look in the diner. They’ll split up, she decides, pointing Ben around the back and towards the other buildings. Just in case, so they don't waste time.

He watches Ann as she opens and closes the diner door, the bell ringing overhead, before stepping into gear. He wouldn't admit this to anyone, as he slips into the dark alleyway along the side of the building, but he's terrified. Terrified she might not be here, that it was all some elaborate prank and it was never really Leslie at all, that he will find her, but she’ll be long gone, cold to the touch. He thinks of his nightmares, and he stares up at the sky and he  _ prays,  _ god, to let it be okay, that he’ll do anything just for it to be okay, anything—

There's a flash of gold.

It's only slight, but it's there, and then he's running. Running down the alleyway, chasing it like it's sunlight, trying to tell himself he didn't imagine it. He's losing his mind and about to call out her name, aching for her, begging for her, so goddamn close he can feel it, when he almost trips over something that isn't moving at all.

_ “Leslie,”  _ he sobs, choking on her name.  _ “Oh god, Leslie.” _

She's unmoving, but it's  _ her,  _ lying in the alleyway, covered in dirt and blood, her eyes closed. Her cheek rests against the ground, her hair dirty but still just bright enough to lead him directly to her. And he's reaching for her, grabbing her,  _ actually touching her again,  _ sobbing and crying her name out into the night.

_ Don't be dead. Please don't be dead. _

_ Don't leave me again. _

_ I can't do this. Not again. Not again. _

_ I need you. _

He's on his knees and shaking her, pushing her up until she's draped across his lap. He's hyperventilating, whispering her name over and over again like a mantra.

_ Leslie, Leslie, Leslie. _

_ “Leslie,”  _ he cries, pushing her hair out of her face, tucking it behind her ear.  _ “Please wake up.” _

Ben reaches for her pulse when she doesn't move, uncaring if her blood is now staining his palms, leaking onto his clothing. He can hear footsteps in the distance, and he doesn't have to look to know it's Ann. But there's blood in her hair and on her hands, on the ground surrounding her, and his hope is rapidly fading away, moving with the wind, mocking him just by his existence.

But then—

A heartbeat.

Ann screams her name in the distance as Ben sobs, pulling Leslie into a hug. He wraps her in his arms and lifts her bridal style, trying to keep her head up on his shoulder. But she's  _ alive.  _ She's alive, and she's here, and she's coming home. They're running, and the car is ready to go, and April is leaping into the passenger seat. There's blood on his car seats but he doesn't care, her head is in his lap, everyone is crying, and he can't seem to let go of her hand.

He grips her tightly, intertwining their fingers, just like they were that morning in Tom’s closet. But this time, Ben refuses to let go. He won't make the same mistake again. He presses their hands to his lips and kisses them, long and hard, closing his eyes and reveling in just the feeling of her, the feel of her pulse, the feel of her skin against his.

He makes a decision, right then and there.

He’ll never lose her again. He’ll do whatever he has to, but he's done making this mistake. 

No matter what happens to him, Ben will keep Leslie safe.

_ No matter what. _


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning: this chapter delves into darker subject matter!

They sit in silence for a long time.

There's a thick tension in the air, playing this waiting game, everyone sitting with bated breath and trying not to lose hope or grow impatient. Andy drives a little erratically, April stares straight ahead, whispering directions into his side, and it's the only sound for too long in this tiny car.

Ann cries silently into her hands, holding Leslie’s body very firmly in place between them. Her legs rest across Ann’s lap, with her head in Ben’s lap, lying snugly there as he holds her, pushing her hair from her face. 

He never lets go of her hand. He holds it like his life depends on it, like she’ll slip away if he doesn't keep her in his grip. He watches her breathing, watches her chest so softly rise and fall, grounding himself to that, in the comfort that she's still alive and this isn't quite over yet. He prays, very silently, to whatever higher being might be out there, that she'll come back to him. That she’ll be here.

_ Come back to me. Come back to me. _

It's tense and dark out and no one knows what's to say, no one even bothers to try and say anything, waiting for something that might not happen at all. Her blood is on their hands, her life in their palms, trying desperately to get back to Pawnee, and Ben just needs her to  _ wake up. _

And then she stirs.

Leslie  _ stirs,  _ mumbling gently under her breath, and Ben’s heart rate spikes up. He's holding her tighter than ever in both his hands, and suddenly there's movement all around, and the car comes to life, and everyone is crying.

_ “Leslie,”  _ Ben gasps, lifting her palms to his lips and whispering into her skin. “Leslie, please wake up, please wake up—”

“Oh my god, is she awake?”

_ “Andy!”  _ April shrieks,  _ “Look at the road!” _

Ann is sobbing too loudly to be comprehensible, and Ben just keeps begging, begging, begging, until—

Her eyes open.

Leslie’s eyes are blue, and Ben realizes he's never seen them quite so dull. But he can  _ see them,  _ right in front of him, blinking softly in the moonlight, trying to figure out where she is. Its gradual, her wake-up, something slow and gentle and almost magical, and the world seems to come alive with her. Suddenly things aren't quite so gray, quite so dull, as if Ben can see in bright and screaming color again. And the  _ warmth…  _ it envelopes him, reminding him it's summertime and not the bitter cold winter he's felt trapped in for over a month.

And when she sees him, making eye contact, he can’t help but grin broader than he has all summer.

“Ben?” she chokes, as if confused at first as to why he came, or like she's unsure this is real at all. “What are you doing here?”

“I came to get you,” he cries, and in the heat of the moment, it's all he can do to hold her face, hold her hands, stroking her gently, reminding himself she's here. He’ll worry about the implications in the morning, but right now he just needs to touch her. “I promised you I would, didn't I?”

“Oh my god,” she whispers. “You came. You actually…”

“Yeah, Les, I did. You're gonna be safe. You're gonna get to go home.”

The word  _ home  _ repeats itself on her lips, bringing color to her cheeks, warmth to her palms. She's about to say something else when Ann sobs, collecting herself just enough to move, and then she's grasping desperately for Leslie, scrambling to get a hold of her without hurting her, and Leslie’s eyes flicker to the other seat, to her best friend.

_ “Oh, Ann’s here,”  _ Leslie sobs, and then she's pulling herself up, pushing Ben aside, falling right into Ann’s arms and hugging her so tightly it's a miracle they can both breathe. They both sway gently on the spot, both girls’ tears on the happier side than anything else.  _ “Ann’s here.” _

_ “I thought you were gone,”  _ Ann groans into Leslie's hair, her voice higher pitched than usual. “I really thought… I thought there was no way, I thought Ben was lying…”

“You're really here,” Leslie says, as if she still doesn't really believe it. “God, I… I was so scared, and I missed you, Ann, I tried to call you—”

“Oh god, I know, I'm so sorry, I'm sorry, I was sleeping and I was  _ so sad—” _

“It's okay. I'm not gone. Ben… he…”

“He did this,” Ann says, and only now does she pull away slightly. She takes a long moment to look Leslie in the eye before shifting her gaze to Ben, smiling for him. “I… we couldn't have done this without him. None of us could have. He believed in finding you, even when I didn't.”

“So you two are friends now?” Leslie shifts back just gently, wincing at the twist of her torso, looking back and forth between Ben and Ann. “That's a plot twist I couldn’t have seen coming.”

Ben grins cheekily through his tears. “Stranger things have happened.”

She sighs. “Yeah. Yeah, that's true.”

“You need to eat something, Leslie,” April interrupts, swiping her finger across her cheek in a clear effort to hide her crying. “There's snacks and water. And then are you gonna tell us what happened to you?”

“Oh, April,” Ann says, “Maybe we hold back on the story? I mean, I don't want her to tell it until she's ready—”

“No, I can do it,” Leslie says, looking determined, falling back into her seat between them in an effort to get more comfortable. She has to sort of lean into Ann, and her legs press against Ben’s, a fact that he is very aware of. “I can tell the story. I probably should, actually, before we get home. It's… it's a lot. And I think it's really important.”

“Food and water first,” Ben says, taking the snacks and the water bottle from April and pressing it into Leslie’s palms. “I want you to focus on that and that only until you're done, and then you can start from the beginning with the story.”

She does as he insists without a fight, likely because she really  _ does  _ need the food and water. She drinks quickly, almost desperately, and Ben makes note of her while she's distracted. The way that she moves, and breathes. How she holds things, her palms and fingernails caked with drying blood, her clothes dirty, the same ones he saw her in when he ran into her on the last day of school. She's been through a lot, clearly, like she's been beat even within an inch of her life, like she hasn't slept at all, like there were moments she really did think it was over. He imagines someone really and truly breaking Leslie, far more than he was ever capable of, a version of her that actually considers giving up.

But that's the thing about Leslie, isn't it? She  _ didn’t  _ give up. Even if she considered it, she never actually did. She waited until her captor was away and took the first possible chance to escape, even if it meant calling someone who she was scared might not even come and falling asleep in an alley.

She didn't give up, but to think that even for a moment she might have considered it, even for a second she saw herself slipping away from her own life, preparing herself to die, it makes Ben angry. It makes him  _ furious,  _ really, enough to go completely feral and hurt someone, hurt whoever did this to her, whoever drew her blood without a care in the world and let her scream. And then had the audacity to take  _ pictures,  _ send them out anonymously, and attend her funeral like nothing was wrong at all.

“Leslie,” he whispers lowly when she's gotten a full enough fill of food, taking a second water bottle that April passes her. “Who did this to you?”

She can sense the anger, the pure rage in his tone, and something far more serious passes over them all. Leslie reaches back for Ann’s hand and holds it very tightly in her own, using her as a support system.

“You're not going to believe it,” she says, looking down. “I always liked him.”

***

**SENIOR YEAR**

She just wanted to ask a question.

It was just a  _ question,  _ just a little clarification needed for an upcoming exam about the making of the Constitution. She was worried about her grade, and the instructions being not quite clear in the handout she was given. It shouldn't have been a problem. It was after school and Leslie had never known Mr. Newport to be anything but helpful and generous.

She bounded through the empty halls with her backpack bouncing on her shoulders, making her way to the history wing at the back of the school, clutching her green history binder to her chest. Knowing he would still be here, and knowing he would likely enjoy a conversation with her, as he always had, she approached his door and went to twist the handle only to find it locked. 

“Oh, dammit,” she mumbled under her breath. And really, she should've walked away. It was just a  _ question,  _ a dumb question that she could've asked the next day. It didn't really mean anything in the long run, it couldn't possibly have been that important, but she stayed anyway. She stayed  _ anyway.  _ Because Leslie never really learned, did she? She was stubborn and eager and goddammit, what was he doing in there anyway? Was he busy? If she just peeked through the tiny window in his classroom door to see, maybe she could knock or call out for him…

Mr. Newport stood in front of his desk, his back to Leslie, and for a second, she didn't realize what he was doing. But there was someone else there, she could tell, but she couldn't figure out who. But it had to be his wife, right? Mrs. Newport? He was holding her very close to him, very possessively, and with a closer look, she realized he was kissing her.

_ She shouldn't look.  _ She really, really shouldn't look. It was inappropriate of her and disrespectful to look in on her teacher kissing his wife, even if it was rather passionate just for an after-school kiss in his classroom. She supposed he was free to kiss his wife anywhere he wanted to, really, especially so because no one was around, so who was she to judge? She had definitely done far worse things in far worse places at that point, with a person who she was definitely not married to.

She kept looking.

She didn't know why, but something about this felt wrong. It was almost eerie, like it wasn't supposed to be happening at all. The locked door, after school, the way he held this woman by her waist and her face and pulled her into him, so hungry, so eager, as if they might run out of time, like someone might find them. It was this thought that kept Leslie transfixed, hand on the doorknob, just her eyes peeking through the window, and then they shifted just enough, and she could see the woman’s face.

That definitely was  _ not  _ Mr. Newport’s wife.

She knew this not because she had ever personally met Mr. Newport’s wife, because in all honesty, if she thought about it, she didn't even think he had one. No, it was because she recognized  _ this woman.  _ She recognized the curling brunette hair and slight frame and nimble fingers, eyes closed and lips pressed to a man so much older than her. Leslie saw her stiffen, just slightly, her palm flexing on his back, digging her nails into her skin, and she knew, she just  _ knew,  _ that she wasn't exactly completely comfortable with what she was doing.

As much as Leslie wanted to collapse, or gasp, or run away, or knock the door down, she found that she couldn't move. She was frozen in place, her feet glued to the ground, eyes staring straight ahead with a million thoughts running through her brain. The first? That was her classmate, Shauna Malwae-Tweep, very passionately making out with their history teacher. Second: How old even  _ was  _ Shauna? She was eighteen, right, turned eighteen five months ago, she had a pretty decent sized party at her place. But barely eighteen with a fully grown man was wrong, it was  _ wrong.  _ She was still in high school and under his control and he had gray in his beard and graded tests and lived alone. Three: this was a man Leslie trusted. A man she  _ liked.  _ A man who took her in when she joined all his clubs and told her she wasn't strange for being passionate, she wasn't annoying for being so caring. Here was a man who helped enforce her love for history and politics, her very favorite subjects. Someone who cheered on all her debates and calmed her down after fights with Ben, a single gentle hand on her arm to make her worries go away.

_ It made no sense. _

This wasn't him… it couldn't be. This wasn't Mr. Newport, and this wasn't Shauna. It was some trick of the light, maybe, or she was hallucinating. She only got an hour of sleep that night, so hallucinations were plausible, right?  _ Right? _

Newport and Shauna detached, their breathing heavy, their eyes opening. Leslie realized, vaguely, that open eyes meant a very real possibility of being caught, and she did the worst. She panicked. She ducked. She didn't even remember running away, only that minutes later she was falling to the tile in the girls' bathroom, her knees to her chest and her binder flung to the side.

“Oh god,” she breathed, pressing a hand to her chest and trying not to panic. But the fearful tears were coming, the deep, dreadful anxiety that comes from carrying a burden of knowledge, finding something that you absolutely were not supposed to find.

_ “Shit,”  _ she heaved, unable to steady her breath.  _ “What am I going to do?” _

… 

All things considered, it didn't take Leslie very long to come to a decision.

It was something impossible to live with without saying a thing. The guilt would eat away at her forever if she didn't do  _ something,  _ and she refused to die taking this secret to the grave. It would be selfish, and very much not like her. And even though it was absolutely terrifying, knowing she was opening up a can of worms here and turning down a path she couldn't escape from, she knew she had to do it.

She found Shauna in the hallway after school, and now there was really no turning back.

“I saw you,” Leslie whispered to her, after having begged her to meet her here in the first place. “I saw you, the other day. I was going to Newport’s classroom to ask a—”

“Oh my god,” she gasped, grabbing Leslie's arm, cutting her off instantly. Shauna’s eyes were filled with fear, gripping her so tightly she feared there would be nail marks in her skin. “Oh, god, oh god, you saw that? Leslie, I swear, it's nothing at all what it looks like—”

“You don't need to lie to me. You really don't. I just… you didn't look happy. And it's  _ wrong,  _ Shauna, I think you know that. I couldn't live with myself if I didn't reach out to you to make sure you were okay.”

For a long while, Shauna didn't say anything. She just stared at Leslie with wide eyes, already brimming with tears, struggling with something internally. She didn't once loosen her grip on Leslie, but she relaxed her shoulders slightly, just barely faltering, a pitying whimper escaping her lips. 

“Please help me,” she said at long last. And while it started off as a whisper, it only got louder. “Please,  _ please  _ help me. I don't know what to do. No one knows. I've always… I've always made bad decisions romantically, and I was such an  _ idiot,  _ I pursued him because I thought he was nice, but he's gotten awful, Leslie. He's possessive. I don't know how to leave. This isn't even supposed to be happening, and I'm fucking  _ scared.  _ I hate to ask, but I have nowhere else to turn,  _ please help me.” _

Leslie shushed her, quieted her down, motioned for her to lower her voice. It was after school and the hallways seemed empty, but you never knew what student would turn the hall, what teacher might be listening behind their door, what janitor might pop up in the shadows. Leslie gripped Shauna’s shoulders as she sobbed into her hands, clearly on the verge of an intense breakdown, her whole body shaking. And all Leslie could do was  _ think.  _ She couldn't turn Shauna away, definitely not now when she was begging for help, where she was trapped in a corner with nowhere to run. No, Leslie had to do more than this.

Even if the best solution was to run.

“Shauna,” she snapped, forcing herself to take on the position of a boss. “I need you to listen to me, okay? I think… I think you need to get away.”

“I want to,” she cried. “More than anything, I want to.”

“Then leave school.” It was a bold suggestion, coming from Leslie, who always believed it was best to stay in school no matter what. But this was outside the realm of  _ no matter what,  _ if she really thought about it, and the safest course of action would be to remove Shauna from the situation. “I would say involve the cops, but—”

_ “Please don't, please please don't—” _

“I won't. I know they're bastards. They won't help you at all. No, I'm going to help you. But first, maybe you should seriously consider finishing up your senior year from home. Online classes. Get your space. You don't even have to tell anyone why.”

“They’ll all think I dropped out.”

“So you won't be bothered. That’s an easy cover story that'll automatically be given to you.”

“And what will you do? What do you mean by you're going to help instead of the police?”

Leslie took a deep breath, steadying herself, but the words came out before she fully thought them through. There was no plan, no binders or itineraries, just flying full speed ahead into dangerous territory, but she knew it was right. She knew it was her duty. “I'm going to talk to Newport,” she whispered, and as soon as she said it, she knew it was right. “I'm going to convince him to turn himself in, to the cops or to Traeger. It’ll be better coming from his mouth as a confession than yours.”

Shauna immediately reacted, but not exactly in the way Leslie had hoped. Instead of being relieved, she grew panicked. “Leslie,” she hissed. “That’s… you're going to get yourself into trouble. You can't, not for me, please don't… it's my problem, it's my mess, I'll pick it up—”

_ “Shhh,”  _ Leslie snapped, trying to settle her down,  _ “shhh.”  _ They were both getting too loud, and she could swear she heard the phantom sound of footsteps. It was too dangerous to do this here, right in the halls, near the history wing especially. But Shauna wouldn't stop sobbing, so Leslie held her. She ran her fingers down her back, just hoping to sooth her, praying to god no one knew what was happening. Paranoid, she checked the windows, the doors, all around the hallway— nothing. Nothing,  _ yet. _

“You don't understand,” Shauna said, much quieter now. “He's… he's awful.”

Leslie just shook her head, over and over. “I need to do this. I can get you away—”

“He’ll hurt you. He's terrible, a terrible man, he's only nice to his students as a front. It's manipulative. He hurt me, Leslie, I don't want it to happen to anyone else—”

“So it won't, because I'll make him turn himself in.”

“You don't get it—”

“I get enough.” Leslie broke away from Shauna just enough, starting to get angry, because there was no way now she was going to get talked out of this. Shauna had to understand, she  _ had to.  _ She balled her fists and stood her ground. “Listen, if I have to be a casualty to finish this and protect other girls like you—”

“Don't do that!” Shauna practically yelled it, far too loud for where they were, and Leslie  _ jumped,  _ looking over her shoulder again. “Please don't, you can't do that, don't do this—”

_ “Shut up.”  _ She didn't want to be harsh, but it wasn't the time or place. They were getting too loud, and if they were caught before Newport could be dealt with, there would be no point in any of this at all. Leslie pulled Shauna closer, whispering right into her ear. “There could be people anywhere. If you want help, I need you to be quiet. You're not talking me out of this. I'll meet him, and you need to get away, okay? Will you do that?”

“I can finish school at home,” she trembled. “That’s… that sounds good.”

Leslie hugged Shauna, fully hugged her, but it was more a cover than anything else. The phantom footsteps were back, and she had a feeling when she turned around, the halls wouldn't be quite so empty. “Let me do this,” she whispered, deadly quiet. “I can do this. I promise, I won't even let him touch me. He likes me. He wouldn't hurt me.”

Something about this set Shauna off, and before Leslie could react, she was pushing away from her, refusing the hug, and storming off, slamming the hall doors shut behind her. And Leslie was left alone, her palms trembling, pressing her forehead to the cold metal of the lockers, not even knowing  _ what the fuck to do from here. _

And there were those goddamn footsteps.

“You alright there, Knope?”

And maybe it was because of Shauna, or Newport, or the fact that Ben called her  _ Knope  _ again even after everything, a cruel reminder of what she had lost— but she kind of felt like crying.

She rolled her eyes instead.

That was always easier.

...

“I'm giving you two options.”

She willed her voice not to be shaky, but she was losing that battle. She stood before him feeling to all the world like she was the one being persecuted and on trial, and it didn't help that he sat behind his desk with an eyebrow raised and his hands clasped.

“Well,” he sighed, oddly neutral in tone. “I’m not sure you're in any real position to bargain with a teacher, Leslie.”

Maybe it was the way he said her name, like that alone was a threat, that made her tremble. Still, she powered on.

“I don't care if you're my teacher. A girl needs help, and what you did was wrong. I need to make this right. And I won't stop until I do.”

Newport’s expression was still oddly unchanged. “And you get to be the one to decide this was a terrible thing?”

“The cops will decide that. Or better yet, Chris Traeger.” It was the beginning of her bargain. “You can either confess to Principal Traeger about your relationship with Shauna, or I’ll do it myself.”

“Leslie, it doesn't have to be like this—”

“By graduation,” she gasped, very set on this deadline now. “That’s a month away. It's more than what you deserve. If by graduation, you don't tell him, then I will. And I have pictures.”

It was a lie. She had no pictures. But without the lie, it would only be her word against his, and what good would that do? No, she needed an advantage, and this was the perfect one. It showed on his face, in the way he paled, as if trying to calm himself down. She saw it so many times before he broke up fights in class between her and Ben.

“You know…” he started off slowly, almost affectionately. “I always admired your tenacity, and your passion. I always thought it would bring you to do great things in life. You know what you want and you do what you can to get it. But now… I can't say I’m a fan of you using it for blackmail.”

“It's for a greater good,” she said.

“Is it?”

Leslie didn't move.

“I don't let anyone back me into a corner,” he said, and for just a moment, she was scared. Scared because he was calm, not afraid at all, because he was bigger than her and much more powerful and this point she really, really didn't know what he was capable of. It was incredible, really, how little she seemed to know about a man who once held her at fourteen while she cried, worried about the first day of school. “If you're serious about this, I hope you're ready to go down fighting.”

And she was. She really, really was.

…

She felt sick everyday.

Everyday creeped closer and closer to graduation, and while she was crashing, everyone else was celebrating. Everything was impossible to take, even little things setting her off, and it was like a cruel, cold trap, unable to open up to anyone.

Shauna left school. Hardly anyone said anything, which felt like an accomplishment all on it’s own. But it was the only one, and incredibly short lived, as Leslie got worse and worse everyday. She had taken this burden on her shoulders very willingly, not realizing just how much it would rip away from her everyday.

She avoided Newport.

She tried to smile and laugh with Ann.

She tried to prepare her graduation speech, but she just kept thinking of her  _ graduation deadline. _

She imagined telling Chris.

She imagined this all going terribly wrong, in a million different ways, where she finally took on too much, and this would be one disaster she couldn't bounce back from.

And the last day of school, the worst she’d ever felt in her life, knowing full well Newport had said nothing. They were getting antsy, exchanging glances in the halls, during class where she couldn't stand to speak up anymore, an indescribable tension that sent cold chills of terror down her spine. 

And by god, she was so close to breaking.

She almost did, with Ben.

She wasn't herself. She had given up sugar to avoid the headaches and was living on fear alone. She slept less than normal, and her papers were scattered over the halls, Ben’s fingers brushing hers, and she wanted to tell him. She wanted to let her walls down and let him in, because he was looking at her in that  _ way  _ he always did lately, that  _ way  _ that tricked her into thinking he felt just as much for her as she did for him.

She wanted to beg him to help her, to ease this burden and the ache in her shoulders, figure out where to go from here, who to tell, give her a shoulder to cry on. She wanted to ask him not to fight anymore, that she was laying her weapons down, that she was willing to risk it all and say  _ screw it  _ if it meant he didn't leave her again with all her love out in the hall. He knew her. He knew her almost better than anyone, he knew she wasn't okay. She wasn't fooling him anymore than she was herself. And if she just  _ asked… _

She wanted to.

But she didn't.

It was the last thing she remembered before her vision went blurry in the parking lot, her head hitting the pavement, and everything went dark.

And graduation never came.

***

**PRESENT DAY**

It’s a difficult story to process.

It's not that Ben thinks she's lying, because he knows full well she never would, not about something like this. It's just that it's shocking, and a possibility that he never once considered. Sure, he wanted to  _ talk  _ to the teachers, but he never thought…

“I knew Shauna had something to do with it,” he whispers. And for a first thing to say after the fact, it's a little strange, but it's all he can articulate. He was right in  _ one  _ aspect, so he was on the right track. All that investigation wasn't a complete waste of time, not when it brought him here, not when it made him realize all this time what he was missing.

“I'm sorry I didn't tell you,” Leslie whispers, and there are hot tears rolling down her cheeks. “Any of you. Maybe I should have. Maybe I was too scared to trust anyone but myself, or maybe I just… I didn't want to drag anyone else into this.”

So Ben looks at her. He really,  _ really  _ looks at her, and for the first time, he sees someone truly and genuinely  _ selfless,  _ far more than he can say for himself. He sees a girl who put her life and her sanity on the line to save a girl she barely even knew, let alone  _ liked,  _ ruining herself a little more everyday, staying strong and holding her ground despite it all.

And, like the asshole he is,  _ Ben made it harder on her. _

During that last month, he just made everything harder. He yelled at her over something she couldn't control, chipping away slowly at her resolve, testing her patience, and for someone who was on the edge of something so big, she was remarkably level-headed. Just the fact that she doesn't hate him now…

He’ll make it up to her. Whatever he needs to do, he’ll do it.

“I just needed you all to know now, before we get back to Pawnee,” Leslie says, cuddling closer into Ann. “I just… I don't know if he…”

“He's gonna come back for you, isn't he?” Ann whispers, dumbfounded, holding Leslie closer. It's possessive, in the way she grabs her, like she won't let her go again until she knows it's safe. Ben doesn't blame her. He would be doing the same thing, if he felt like he was allowed to love her like that. “I'm not going to let him.”

“It's just, he’ll know I’m gone. He kept me in this Sweetum’s factory placed in Indianapolis, passed on from his dad, and it's big enough to look through that it might buy me time. But I still have information he doesn't want getting out, and he's not going to let that go. Not if he was willing to kidnap me over it, he's not giving up. He’ll just kill me to keep me silent.”

The idea of that makes Ben seize up, his eyes fluttering closed, gripping his thigh. It's a very real possibility, and one he has to confront, because how else can they get out of this? His house is out of the question, and her house…

“I can’t go home,” she chokes, looking right at Ben as if she knew what he was thinking. “My mother… I can't— I just can't face her right now.”

“You won't have to,” he says, and it strikes him so suddenly that it's like an actual lightbulb has gone off in his head. A small slip of paper burns a hole in his pocket, begging to be used, waiting for the most opportune time, and—

“We’ll go to Swanson,” Ben decides, so sure of it. And he knows it's the right choice by the way Leslie seems to relax, sinking further into her seat, her features softening. “I know he's like a father to you, isn't he?”

“He is,” she breathes. “The closest thing I have anymore.”

He grips the small piece of paper with Ron's number on it in his fist, reaching for his phone already. They need to warn him, and they need directions— nowhere is more hidden than the Swanson cabin. “Then I think it's about time we follow through on his request.”

And for the first time, he starts to realize what it means to really trust outside yourself. To rely fully on an adult, without that nagging feeling in the back of your brain that they might betray you, or hurt you, or yell at you for not doing enough. This time, the adults in his life won't turn on the world instead of focusing on him, they won't blur him out and shove him away and act like his problems mean nothing.

This is trust. Trust that Ron won't do wrong by him or Leslie.

So he chooses trust.

But most importantly, he chooses hope.

“Hey,” Leslie whispers to him, and he recognizes her foot gently nudging his. He swallows a lump in his throat. “Thank you, by the way. For… everything.”

“Of course,” he tells her. “And thank you for trusting me.”

Because that means more to him than anything.

And when Ben smiles at Leslie, she smiles back.

No menace, no tension, no cruelty between them— just trust, hope, and a smile.


	19. Chapter 19

As it turns out, Ron is kind of a life saver.

While he insists that this is the  _ only  _ instance he would ever allow this in his life, he passes on directions to his cabin, with instructions to make sure Leslie gets lots of water, and to put pressure if she's actively bleeding out. As soon as Ben hangs up, he's passing the directions to April and telling Andy to drive, wrapping Leslie in blankets, trying to pinpoint her worst injuries to treat on the way over.

“I’m fine,” she insists with a wince, her hand at her side. “I’m fine, it's not as bad anymore. It could be worse.”

“I don't  _ care,”  _ Ann hisses, and with the heart of a nurse, she props Leslie up, gifts her with another water bottle, and holds her bruised hand, cursing herself for not having thought of bringing even a single ice pack.

“Hey, Swanson’s place actually isn't far from us,” April calls to the backseat, as Andy swings the car into an unnecessarily sharp turn. “We can get there really quickly, actually.”

“Oh thank god,” Leslie breathes, betraying herself, losing her stoic features for just a moment. “God, I… I could really use Ron right now.”

There’s a real vulnerability in her face, just then, and it strikes Ben just how far away from her mother Leslie really is. She can't go home, not really, not to that house. Not just because Newport will come looking for her, but because inside that house lives a ghost that Leslie can't face. Not quite yet, at least. Not while she's bleeding and fragile and it's taking everything in them to bring her back and keep her alive. The first priority is survival. Everything else will come later.

But Ron…

Calling him, Ben was scared for a moment he wouldn't answer. He was terrified he wouldn't be bothered to check his phone that he hates so much, or that he was sleeping, so he wouldn't pick up in the middle of the night, but he did. He  _ did,  _ and pretty quickly too. Before Ron could get a word in edgewise, Ben was explaining everything, as quickly as he could, Leslie staring at him with wide, hopeful eyes.

The relief in Ron’s tone was apparent. He had never heard the man with so much emotion in his voice, except for maybe Leslie’s funeral, where he stood in front of everyone and spoke when he doesn't even  _ like  _ speeches, but just this time he had to. There were no questions on this call, no demand for extra details, and Ron didn't once doubt him. Just gave him instructions and an address.

And one last thing.

“Take care of her, son,” Ron said to him, just before he hung up. “She needs you.”

“Are we almost there?” Leslie calls out, sinking into Ann’s side. They're driving through trees now, perfectly out of sight, the sun slowly rising through the leaves. Andy’s driving is more reckless than ever, and Ben wants to yell at him, but—

“We’re five minutes away,” April informs them, and they all bounce as Andy drives over a rock. Leslie winces, clutching her head, and it's almost instinctual, really, the way he grabs for her. He reaches to cradle her head and there are tears in his eyes, his fingers running through her hair, and she doesn't tell him to let go.

“It's going to be okay?” she whispers to him, as if suddenly unsure, needing the validation.

“It’s going to be okay,” Ben chokes, and his thumb moves of its own accord, finding itself tracing down her jaw. “You're okay.”

…

Ron is waiting for them outside.

He practically runs to the car actually, helping them hoist Leslie out. He holds her bridal style while she insists she can walk, but it's clear her energy is fading fast. She's in need of real treatment, real sleep, a shower and warm clothes. She's in need of  _ protection,  _ and one look at Ron’s cabin shows this is the ideal place to provide it.

It's in the middle of nowhere. As they walk through the trees to the actual cabin, he realizes it's a miracle they ever found it at all. It's incredible, just how hidden he's managed to make this place, and when they all walk in, it's an even bigger shock. He shouldn't be surprised, but there are guns everywhere, on the walls and in the closet, a fire set up, whiskey on the table. Ron rests Leslie on the couch, where she gasps as if hit by a shock of pain, and Ben wants to reach out to her again, but Ron stops them.

“I need you all to concentrate, do you understand?” Ron barks, taking up the position of leader seamlessly. “You all have jobs to do, and I expect you to do them well. You're doing it for Leslie, do you understand me?”

“Got it, boss,” Andy exclaims, while Ben, Ann, and April nod quickly.

“Yes, sir.”

“You three—” Ron points at Ann, Andy, and April. “Take my car and get back home. Warn who you need to, tell the people closest to you, but don't let word get out. Your job is rumor control. If this falls into the wrong hands, it'll be hell, you understand?”

Andy and April seem okay with this, but Ann is wide-eyed, looking back and forth between Leslie and Ron. “But, Mr. Swanson, I was really hoping to stay with—”

“I need you to go to get her clothes, Perkins,” Ron says. “I'm sure you know her house better than any of us. Get what she needs, enough to stay here for at least a week, understood?”

It's a job Ann can understand, and she stands at attention, trying not to cry, trying to remind herself to remain useful. “And then I can—”

“And then you can stay here to be with her.” Ann sighs with relief, watching Leslie, who has already started to drift off into a deep sleep, unable to hear anything going on around her. In the darkness of the night and the light of the fire, she looks pale, something fragile and soft, something Leslie Knope is not. “And Wyatt? Stay behind for a second, you and I need to talk.”

_ Old habits die hard,  _ Ben thinks, as for a moment, Ben believes himself in trouble. But the look on Ron’s face is far from his  _ teacher  _ face, it's something much deeper, much more concerned, much more  _ caring. _

He waits until Ann, Andy, and April slip out of the cabin to say anything. And when he does, it's surprisingly soft, something that almost reminds Ben of a parent.

“You did all this, didn't you?” Ron asks him, lowering himself into an armchair by the couch, where Leslie breathes softly. “And don't try to be humble. You got her back.”

“I had help,” Ben whispers. “I called everyone up. I couldn't have done it without them.”

“But you did this.” Ben says nothing, doesn't try to refute this, but Ron’s mustache bristles with something that must be a smile. “I’m not usually one to apologize, but I will say I’m sorry for getting you locked in that cell. I was worried for her, and you seemed like the most obvious answer.”

“I know,” Ben says. “I don't blame you.” And it's true. “I would've thought it was me too, honestly. I have a lot to feel guilty about.”

“Maybe not too much. But I think you should go home. Get some sleep. Relax knowing that you've brought her home and she's alright.”

“I’m not sure I can relax while he’s still out there, Mr. Swanson.”

“Now, you said it was Newport? History teacher?”

Ben nods, and Ron winces, just subtly.

“Old bastard,” Ron mumbles. “Don’t worry too much about it. No one can find their way here unless they're led here. And I’ve got the guns and the training to shoot him down before he even gets his boot on the porch. Get some sleep, or you'll be no use to anybody, son.”

Ben knows he's right, reasonably, but he’s still scared.  _ Of course  _ he is. He just got Leslie back, and the idea of letting her out of his sight so soon is terrifying. He never wanted to let her go, so how is he supposed to sleep now? How  _ can  _ he sleep when he knows she's still hurt and someone is looking for her? How can he sleep when he’s made her his responsibility and priority? How can he relax knowing she might wake up and wonder where he went?

“Will you call me?” Ben asks suddenly, feeling the need to ask it. “If I go home, will you call me when she's up? Or, if you just… If when she wakes up, if you ask her if she's okay with… will you let me know?”

This time, Ron’s smile isn't even hidden. “You brought her back to us. Of course I’ll call you, son.”

And it's with that thought that Ben can finally sleep.

…

It’s almost a day before Ron calls Ben.

He gets home as the sun is rising and he's asleep by eight, locking his bedroom door and not getting up for anybody. His parents call for him, trying to ask him if he's okay, assuming he’s sleeping in and avoiding them because of Leslie’s funeral, and he’s too exhausted to correct them. It's too dangerous to talk about now anyway, in case it spreads and gets in the wrong hands, so Ben just doesn't say a thing, sleeping until three in the afternoon and snacking on peanuts from his backpack so he doesn't have to leave his room.

He keeps his phone volume on. He paces the room, tries not to cry, tries to remind himself that it  _ wasn't  _ a dream. It’s real, and she's back, and she's here to stay. He did something good. And any minute now Ron will call and he’ll get to see her again.

Unless… unless Ron hasn't called because she isn't interested in seeing him.

It's entirely possible. She might thank him for coming to get her, but she doesn't owe him anything, nothing at all. If she never wants to see him again, she’s allowed to make that choice, she would be well within her right. But it's that small part of Ben that still  _ hopes,  _ the part of him that looks back on four years of rejection and wonders if they can still do better. It has to be possible, right?  _ It’s not too late for them? _

His phone rings close to eleven.

“She’s asking for you,” Ron says, sounding tired. Ben can't help the grin sneaking up on him. “I didn't even have to say anything, but she's asking for you.”

He doesn't even say anything. He just gets in his car with shaky hands and his heart on his sleeve.

He tries not to think too much, because this could be nothing. This might be a  _ thank you, I appreciate it, and now it's time to move on.  _ This might be a  _ it's too late,  _ or  _ it’s not good enough.  _ This might be a rejection, plain and simple, or it might be nothing at all, a simple greeting with too many words left unsaid between them, a silence too loud, a story that will be left unfinished. Their fate hangs between them so precariously, in both their hands now, and if one of them tugs just a  _ little  _ too hard then they will break, and there will be no tying this string back together again. They’ve gone through too much now to make the same mistakes.

Either way, something must end tonight. A decision will be made, whether spoken or felt.

The cabin is as warm as he remembers it, his boots echoing against the hardwood, Ron motioning to a back room before settling back into his whiskey glass. He knocks before he enters, waiting for her small call of,  _ “Come in,”  _ before he pushes it open, very slowly, letting it click shut behind him.

She’s got a nice bed, at least. As tough as Ron is, he seems to understand the need for comfort, sometimes. Leslie is smiling softly underneath a large navy comforter, her hair spilling out behind her, her face thinner and paler than it ever was in high school. She shivers gently, wrapping the blanket tighter around her, moving to sit up as if to greet him.

“You don't have to do that,” he tells her quickly, holding a hand out. “Please. Don't sit up.”

She quirks a brow, but lowers herself back all the same. “Fine. Then you're gonna have to come closer so I can see you.”

Ben awkwardly shuffles forward, unsure where would be most appropriate, until she pats her hand beside her on the bed as an invitation. He swallows a lump in his throat, everything in him screaming that this  _ isn't allowed  _ even though she's insisting, even though she’s made enough room for him to not be awkward. He toes his shoes off and sits right on the edge, twisting to face her, and for a moment they just stare at each other, both at a loss on what to say.

Leslie sighs, but it's not heavy. “You don't look good.”

He knows what she means, but teases her anyway. “Oh, gee, thanks—”

“Oh, shut up,” she grins. “You look tired. Smaller. Less angry.”

“I could say the same thing about you.”

“That's true, you could.” They stare at each other a little longer, as if to put emphasis on this, two people that have been through varying levels of hell just to finally find their way back to each other. “I saw Ann earlier today. I spent most the day with her actually.”

“That's good,” Ben says, and he really means that. It explains what took Ron so long to call. “She really missed you. She was kind of a mess, actually, I was really worried about her.”

“It's sweet, that you care about her. It's funny, how last time I saw you both, you hated each other.”

“Yeah, well…” Ben looks down, toying idly with the fraying corner of a knitted blanket that had to have come from Leslie's house. “A lot of things changed.”

“She told me. She told me you changed. She told me a lot about you. Like… how much you cared. What this all meant to you. She told me you cried.”

_ “Ah.”  _ Ben grins, winces like it's a joke, trying to hide the fact that he's scared. Because Ann doesn't know it, maybe Leslie doesn't know it, but they’ve opened up something he can't easily come back from, exposing himself in plain day, forcing his feelings to the forefront. And he  _ wants  _ this, he wants it more than anything, but once again there's that nagging feeling in his brain, the same one that haunted him that morning in Tom’s closet, that it's better to run than be rejected, that it's better to pretend than say screw it. “I mean, I was worried. We all were, really. And I’m just… I’m… no matter what, I’m glad that you're home. Even if you're not…  _ really  _ home.”

“It's okay,” she says, and she shifts slightly to lie on her side, better facing him, looking up at him through her eyelashes. “Honestly, I think this is as close to home as I’ll get.”

He can sense the shift in conversation, very slight, but instantly heavier. The nervous feeling in his chest is gone and is instead replaced with worry, something almost pitying if he feels in any place to think it, and he inches closer to her, just enough to see the details in her face. He sees the way her emotions shift in her eyes, to something sad, and he can't handle this anymore.

“I’m sorry,” he tells her. “I… I wish it wasn't like that. I meant to tell you that junior year when you told me about your mom. I’ve been meaning to tell you, actually, that I think she's horrible. I think she's haunting you, and you don't deserve that. You shouldn't feel the need to hide away from her.”

She smiles at him, her hand landing on the blanket, that much closer to him. “It’s okay,” she says. “It’s kind of always been like this. I’m used to it.”

“Kind of?”

“Well… yes, kind of. There were a couple times when I was younger, and my dad was still alive…”

He remembers hearing this, that same night he heard about her mom. He doesn't know much about Leslie's father, only that he died when she was ten, but he realizes now there must be a lot to unpack there that she's never quite given herself permission to before. She swallows hard, her fingers flexing to grip her blankets, and he kind of wants to grab her hand. He resists.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” he asks her, just to give her an out. Just in case she needs it. And she smiles gently, as if knowing exactly what he's doing and appreciating it all the same.

“He died when I was ten,” she whispers. “It's fine, I guess. It's been a long time. I’m better now than I used to be. I mean, sometimes I wake up feeling guilty because I forget what his voice sounds like or what his favorite color was, but mostly I’m in mourning over my mom. Because I think when he died, a part of her died, too. She used to be a little more normal. Not much, but a little. She had her moments.”

“Sweet moments?”

Leslie nods, looking at her lap. “Beautiful ones. When I was a little girl in pastel dresses and braids and I… I would jump in puddles and climb trees and one time I fell and scraped my knee. There was some blood, a lot of tears, but I just remember my dad scooping me up and cleaning me off, and mom came running in after hearing me cry. She was so worried, and she kissed my forehead and told me that she loved me. She loved me so much. And she sang me this… this song.”

“What song?”

And to his surprise, Leslie takes a deep breath and she starts to sing, very softly, hardly there at all, but something so beautifully gentle, a lullaby that could easily rock him to sleep.  _ “You are my sunshine, my only sunshine. You make me happy when skies are grey. You’ll never know, dear, how much I love you. So please don't take my sunshine away.”  _

There's a silence after her song where the words sink in, and Ben imagines a bright, blonde little girl, the embodiment of sunshine, wrapped up in her mother’s arms. A mother who didn't often show love, and maybe never did again. A mother who fell away completely at her father’s funeral, as if every bit of life had been drained from her, going through the motions, pushing everything in until it doesn't hurt anymore.

Ben understands. He’s seen very similar themes in his own house. And maybe… maybe they're more alike than he ever thought.

“That's a cute song,” Ben tells her. “I think sunshine suits you.”

Leslie shrugs. “Maybe. She would start to sing it to me every time I got hurt, like it was some kind of healing incantation. I was a kid, so I was convinced it worked. And then… and then my dad died, and I…” She starts to choke up now, really choke up, and Ben can't take it— he grabs her hand. He holds it tight, as if to ground her, their fingers intertwining on top of the blanket until she's steady enough to speak. “After Dad’s funeral, she was a mess. She wouldn't get off the couch. So I curled up next to her and I kissed her forehead and I thought if I just… if I just  _ sang the song  _ it would take her pain away and I would maybe get my mom back…”

She doesn't need to finish, he understands. And without even thinking about it, he’s inching closer to her, and he can feel her warmth, the way she holds him tighter, wiping her tears from her eyes with her free hand. She’s trying very hard to be strong, but there's something so incredibly vulnerable about this, something so intimate, only meant for the two of them to share. And even though their story is far from over, for just a second, a single second, they feel at peace.

“You don't deserve that,” Ben whispers. “You deserve more of a parent than that. I… when I saw her at your funeral, I almost told her that.”

Leslie laughs, something empty and bitter, and when she shakes her head, the ends of her hair brush against his skin. “It's fitting, really, that the only event of mine she ever shows up to is my funeral. That makes a lot of sense. But it's fine. I don't… I don't need her. I have Ron.”

“And Ron, he’s more than just a teacher to you?”

“He’s the closest thing I have to a father. To a parent in general. I… I got kind of depressed in middle school, the first couple years after my dad died, and I was lonely. I couldn't talk to my mom and one summer Ann was away on vacation, so I took up a bunch of rec center classes and joined a bunch of clubs at Pawnee High a summer early. Ron recognized me from a woodshop rec center class and made sure I had a safe place in the school. He took care of me. He cared about me, even if he pretended to care about nothing. And he let me talk to him about anything, even though he pretended to hate talking about personal things. He took me to get all my school supplies and introduced me to all my teachers and made room for me in all my favorite clubs. That's… actually how I met Newport, too.”

She doesn't elaborate there, and he can't blame her. Newport was supposed to be another comfort for her, another person who made her feel a little bit more okay in life, someone who helped walk her through a dark period in her life where she had next to no one. He was supposed to be  _ there  _ for her, just to be the person to destroy it all in the end, to turn her into some kind of shell of her former self, someone she might never even get back. Ben tightens his grip on her hand, and she stares down at their fingers, running her thumb along the skin of his palm.

“I’m not really sure who I am anymore, you know,” she admits to him. “After this. After everything. I thought I was going to die. I really did. Sometimes I thought I already was dead. And I couldn't help but look back on my life at the areas I should've fixed. Starting with my mother. I mean… how can I come back from this? How can I be okay again? The whole time I just thought about what horrible examples I had, what if I want to be a parent one day? What if I want to bring a child into this world? How can I do that without feeling guilty? Because I don't know how to be a mother, because I have no good examples, because I don’t even know how to take care of myself. You… Ben,  _ you  _ don't have good parents. You must understand this, right?”

He does, better than he knows how to articulate. He’s had the exact same thoughts, deep in the night, that he can never be a father when he doesn't know what a father even does. And he can't fathom a universe where he might be okay enough to have a child, where he won't question everyday whether he's good enough, but something shifts now. Suddenly, it's almost clear. Ben looks Leslie in the eye,  _ fully  _ in the eye, and there it is again, the same feeling he had when he woke up with her in Tom’s closet, with her hand in his. That this is the  _ future.  _ In her, he can see a thousand lifetimes, a million possibilities, infinite paths to take, but somehow she exists in every one. And he gets it now, why people get married and have children, why unsure people bring children into the world, because all anybody can do is try. All anybody can do is love. Some parents are better at that than others. But others, they  _ try, try, try… _

“We just… do what we can,” he tells her. He doesn't know much, but this kind of reassurance is all he has to offer. “We build ourselves up and we learn to be okay again. It's all anybody can do.”

He doesn't think the words mean anything, but she smiles all the same. Her cheeks flush with color, and soon she's tugging him gently, dragging him down, until he's lying on the bed right next to her, their hands still clasped between them. They can feel each other shake, the tension left between them, but the strangest thing about this is… it's not strange. 

“It's kind of incredible, really, how easy this is,” Leslie whispers, tilting her head to motion between them. “Just talking to you like this. Freely, about real, emotional things. It's not difficult."

“No,” he admits, “it isn't.”

He thought it would feel weird to be with her, after four years of exchanging insults and enough hatred to keep him company for a lifetime, but it's not. If anything, this is the most  _ real  _ being with her he’s ever felt, as if every time he fought with her was some cruel simulation, some fake version of them, and now is the real deal. Now he's really  _ seeing  _ her, just as she is, and she's not hiding away. They're slowly shedding away all their layers until they're emotionally naked and the worst— or  _ best—  _ part is, it feels like he already knows her. Like he’s known her his entire life.

“I don't think it was ever supposed to be like this between us,” Leslie says, staring up at the ceiling. “The dumb rivalry, I mean. It all looks so silly now. And you know, we didn't always hate each other.”

This makes Ben smile, remembering the first time he ever met her, when she was a tiny fireball of a girl with too many books in her arms, who opened his locker for him and introduced herself as  _ Leslie Knope, freshman student now, but future President of the United States. _

And it occurs to him, like a bolt to the gut, that this has been a long time coming, really. That he fell into Leslie’s orbit and fell in love with her from the moment he met her, and she held out her hand for him to shake with high enough ambitions that only she can make work. He fell for her then, but like an  _ idiot,  _ it took him far too long for him to realize it. 

Ben may have fallen for Leslie first, but Leslie  _ realized  _ it first. With a first kiss, maybe, or a phone number, but with a pang of regret he realizes just how close he came to being far too late. All because he was scared of rejection, scared of getting hurt, scared to make himself vulnerable and tell her how he feels, how he's  _ always felt. _

He won't make the same mistakes again. 

“No,” Ben chokes. “I actually really liked you, the first time I met you. I… Good lord, we really made a wrong turn here, didn't we?”

Leslie grins, and her head dips onto his shoulder. The weight of it shouldn't be familiar, yet something about it almost reminds him of home. “We really did,” she laughs, curling into him. “God, to think this whole time—”

“I think I loved you the whole time.”

It's blurted out, almost quickly, but there's no sense of hesitation. This isn't a phrase that he’ll regret, not now, but he is nervous, scared she might be the one to run still, scared to put his heart on his sleeve. But it's finally time, he thinks. Time to put this rivalry to rest.

“I think I loved you the whole time,” he repeats. “And I know I love you now.”

Leslie looks up at him from his shoulder, meeting his gaze as if to test his sincerity. He doesn't turn away, doesn't make a single move, but holds steady, trying to prove himself, his hand gripping hers tighter. There's a slight tremble to her chin, and for a moment, he’s worried he's gone too far.

“I think I loved you the whole time, too,” she whispers. And then, more shakily still— “I love you now.”

And it's all they need to say. There's no need for more, really, not right now. Maybe because things are still so fragile, but with these whispered declarations of love, promises of new beginnings, and the way she curls into his side, he decides it's okay. This is all he needs. He releases her hand just to wrap his arm around her shoulder, pulling her into a hug, and they just let each other cry. There are no more words to be said, just the comfort of being there for each other.

They don't kiss. They just hold each other, wipe the other's tears, and whisper  _ “I love you”  _ one more time, just for good measure, just so they don't forget.

Leslie’s face is buried in his neck and his hand is in her hair, and maybe it's the way he shifts, but she clings to him tighter, her breath catching in her throat, her nails digging into his shirt. “Will you stay with me?” she asks, so softly, as if she's afraid to request it at all. “Please? Just until I fall asleep.”

His heart fills with affection, and he leans down just to kiss the top of her head, lingering on the scent of her hair. “I’ll stay with you,” he tells her, as her body relaxes into him, finally feeling safe enough to sleep again. “I’ll always stay with you.”

“You promise?”

It's a soft plea, something that only comes from being let down before. And he's made so many mistakes in the past, too many to ever fully forget, but he's ready to start making up for them. One step at a time.

“I promise,” he whispers, his eyes fluttering shut with hers.  _ “I’m here.” _


	20. Chapter 20

Ron stops him on his way out.

“I take it the two of you are alright?” he asks, and Ben is touched by his want to know personal information. “I didn't hear any screaming or swear words, so…”

“Yeah,” he breathes, and he can't help it— he smiles. “Yeah, we’re alright. I… honestly, I love her.”

Every time he says it out loud it feels more  _ right,  _ and he wonders how he ever stopped himself from saying it before. It feels natural, like he's meant to say it, and he wants to say it so many more times. Shouted from the rooftops, right into her ear, curled into her side, or whispered with his lips pressed to hers. He wants to make up for lost time, stay with her as long as possible, but he still slips away from her an hour after she's fallen asleep, her breathing light, pressing one last kiss to her hair before gently disentangling himself. It’s bittersweet, walking away from her, but he knows he’ll be back. He’ll be back as soon as he can.

But his phone has been blowing up ever since he came back with her, messages he's been ignoring. He promises Tom in a quick message that he’ll be at his house in the morning as soon as possible— and bring the whole gang. Rumor control is important, as well as keeping things relatively quiet, but these people have been with him since the beginning. If anybody deserves to know, it's them.

“You love her?” Ron asks, surveying him closely. He has the look of a father, eyeing his daughter’s date, as if trying to decide if he'll let him go or shoot him on the spot. Or maybe just threaten him a little, remind him that he's got guns and he knows how to use them. “Well, if I’ve learned anything lately, son, it's that she cares a great deal about you. So don't go screwing this up, or I’ll see to you personally.”

Ben holds both hands up in the air as if in surrender. “I swear, sir, I’d never do anything to hurt her, not again. I… I don't think I realized what I had or felt for a long time, for years. And it's stupid, but it took losing her for me to realize I was taking her for granted. I couldn't possibly… I couldn't possibly go back to how we were before, not after I almost lost her.”

Ron stares at him, still giving him that same look, but his arms move from their crossed position, instead dipping his fingertips to rest comfortably under his belt. As if he's relaxed. “Well, normally I’d threaten you some more to toughen you up, but you did set this up in the first place. You did bring her back here alive. I think it shows the lengths you would go to for her. And that's significant.”

And he didn't know it before, he didn't exactly  _ plan  _ saying this, but when it comes out of his mouth, he knows it's the truth, and it makes all the sense in the world. “Honestly,” Ben starts, looking Ron directly in the eye, “if it comes down to it, I’d jump in front of a bullet for her.”

Because she's an infinitely better person than he is. Because if anyone deserves to live, it's Leslie. Because she's been through too much now just to die at the end of it all. And because he loves her. He loves her  _ so damn much  _ that he’s willing to die if it means he's saving her, if it means she gets to live even just one more day. 

Maybe it's the best way Ben can make up for his past mistakes. Maybe this is how he will atone.

“You would die for her?” Ron asks, and Ben only nods. And if he's reading the man’s face correctly, he actually looks… proud. “I respect that. Honestly? I would kill for her.”

Ben just grins, and shakes Ron’s hand. “I’ve never had any doubt about that, sir.”

… 

“Woah, okay, back up a little— Leslie is alive?”

“Yeah, dude,” Andy says, casually bouncing a tennis ball against the wall. “Isn't it totally awesome? Ben is like, a hero, or something.”

“I'm not a hero,” Ben insists quickly, sinking into Tom’s couch. He got here early, so as of right now, the only people here are Tom and Andy. But it's nice, really, to have this time with them, his two closest friends for years, to sort things out before it gets any farther. He feels he’s had almost no time to process any of this information, to understand what's really happening, but explaining it to Tom seems to be helping. Just a little, but it's enough. “Yeah, Leslie's alive. I’m sorry I didn't tell you sooner, it's been a pretty hectic day.”

“And… and it was  _ Newport  _ that kidnapped her?” Tom is completely dumbfounded, pacing back and forth, going over details that Ben barely gave in his rush to get everything out. He had barely slept after getting home from seeing Leslie, and came to Tom’s as soon as possible— he didn't want to be alone for long. If he was, surely he would go insane. “Mr. Newport? Middle aged dude who teaches history? Cardigans and khakis Newport?”

“Same dude,” Andy says. “Kinda crazy, right? I almost didn't believe it, but I think it makes sense for Shauna.”

“It answers  _ a lot  _ of the questions I had, that's for sure,” Ben sighs, lifting a hand to rub his brow. “But not all of them. We know Newport kidnapped Leslie before she got to her car on the last day of school, and then came back for graduation. But how come nobody caught that on the security tapes? We were told there was  _ nothing.  _ The police never knew anything at all and had no leads, how could Newport cover it up this well?”

“Do you think he had help?”

Ben gestures wildly. “I mean, maybe! And the police dropped Leslie's case  _ after  _ finding out she was dead. Why would they not investigate her murder? Why wouldn't they double down? And why allow those awful photos to get spread around in the first place?”

Andy throws his ball up against the wall again, nearly hitting himself in the face. He dodges sloppily, spinning himself around until he's facing them again, looking a little lost. “You ask a lot of questions, dude,” he says. “I thought this whole investigation thing was over? Leslie’s back, can't we celebrate? Throw another party at Tom’s house? You can invite Leslie and make out with her in a closet or something—”

Ben groans, stopping Andy quickly. “Don't— no, that's a bad idea—”

“Dude, are you and Knope finally getting it on?” Tom asks, his face breaking out into a characteristically large grin. “Like, getting together? Are the two of you nerds, like…” He makes a crude gesture with his fingers that's enough to make Ben blush.

“Shut up— It’s not… it's not like that. We’re taking things slow, is all. It's kind of a rough transition.”

“Whatever man,” Andy groans. “I still don't understand why we can't have a party.”

“Because it's not  _ safe,  _ did you even listen to Ron? This… this whole thing, it's not over yet just because we got Leslie back. Newport could come back any minute now looking for her, or he could go totally rogue, and there are still those unanswered questions—”

There's a knock on the door.

At first, the three of them assume the whole gang is here, just like was planned, and Ben prepares himself to tell the story all over again. But just as Tom is reaching to open the door, the knock changes from something small to something  _ desperate,  _ banging against the door, completely unrelenting.

“What the hell?” Tom mutters, staring at his front door. “Who the hell is—”

_ “Ben!”  _ A voice that sounds like  _ Shauna  _ screams from the other side of the door, banging her fist into the wood again and again.  _ “Ben, I know you're in there, I see your car outside, there's an emergency—” _

And he doesn't even have to ask. Ben just  _ knows. _

He knows, and panic shoots into his system, waking his body up, and he needs to act  _ now.  _ The door is thrown open and Shauna is on the other side in tears, makeup down her cheeks, barreling inside without asking and shutting the door behind her. She’s heaving, struggling to breathe, and he knows what she's going to say before she even says it.

“He’s here,” she sobs, looking between the three boys. “I saw him, in his car, in this neighborhood. I'm not safe. Newport. It's  _ Newport,  _ Ben,  _ he killed Leslie, he took her and killed her—” _

“We know everything,” he says, but his voice doesn't sound like his own. He’s already far away from here, aching to run, to fight, to do  _ something.  _ “We know… everything. She's not dead.”

“What?” He expects Shauna to fight him, as her eyes widen, but instead she just cries harder, her knees giving in, needing Andy to lead her to the couch. “Oh god, oh god, she escaped? Is that why…  _ that's why he’s here, he's going to—” _

_ “He’s going to kill her.”  _ Ben sees red, blurry lights and a dizzying tile floor, but he's moving, moving as fast as he can, reaching for his keys and pressing the button to unlock his car door. “I need to go to her. I need to… I need to warn her. Protect her, I need to—”

“Do you want me to come with?” Andy asks, looking ready to run, but Ben shakes his head.

“No… no, not this time. I can do this. We don't want this to be too suspicious. I need both of you to stay here and get Shauna up to speed, and the others when they get here, okay? And whatever you do,  _ don't let Ann follow.  _ Keep Ann here, I can’t…” Ben takes a deep breath, preparing already for the coming hours. “She’s been through enough. If anything happens, she shouldn't have to witness it.”

“On it, boss,” Andy exclaims, and Tom nods, clearly trying not to cry, clapping Ben’s arm.

“Be safe, man,” he whispers, and he can tell it comes from his heart. “Be safe, and be the nerd hero you've always wanted to be.”

So he runs.

He runs right into his car and starts to drive, trying not to think too hard about how vastly underprepared he is. There's no time to stop anywhere, no time to try and find a weapon in case he’ll need one, no time to think clearly. He doesn't even think to call Ron ahead of time to warn him. Really, he doesn't think at all, because the only thing left on his mind is  _ Leslie,  _ and the overwhelming need to get to her, to save her, to stop this before it's too late.

He shouldn't be surprised. He really shouldn't be, as he drives the memorized path to Ron’s cabin—  _ of course Newport is back.  _ They knew this would be a possibility, sooner rather than later, and Ben can't help but feel like an idiot for letting his guard down for even a moment. He should've stayed with her, should've stayed the night, watched over her,  _ but he was too scared.  _ Too scared that he might be crossing the line, that he was moving too fast, despite the fact that they already said  _ I love you.  _ But Ben and Leslie have never done things in order so goddammit, he just  _ should've stayed. _

It'll be his fault if he gets hurt in this. He doesn't know entirely how, but it will be. He would never be able to forgive himself if she died and he didn't even stay with her the goddamn night before.

But she won't die.  _ She won't die.  _ His words to Ron echo in his head.  _ If it comes down to it, I’d jump in front of a bullet for her. _

He would sooner die than let Leslie face her captor. And if that's what it takes…

Well, if today is Ben’s last day, he supposes he has quite a few things left to make peace with.

He prays to any god that might be out there, any higher being, spinning his car through the familiar forests, the trees providing shade and cover, and he doesn't start to feel better until he sees the cabin in view, a stark reminder that it still exists, none of this has been a dream. His car slides to a stop and he's running again, boots crunching against the leaves and then the stairs, bounding up to the door and slamming his fist against it.

_ “Ron!”  _ Ben screams, as loud as he possibly can over his own panicked knocking.  _ “Ron! Leslie! Open up, he's here, he's in Pawnee—” _

The door swings open and Ron is on the other end looking furious, but before he can say a thing, Ben is explaining everything, as quickly as he can, he just  _ needs Ron to know how bad things could be. _

“Newport is here, he's in Pawnee, and he's definitely here for Leslie. He knows she came back here, and Shauna saw him down the street, so she came to us for help— Shauna is safe in the house, but he's after Leslie, and I had to come as fast as I can to warn her, be here with her—”

_ “Idiot boy,”  _ Ron hisses, cutting Ben off as he grabs his arm and pulls him inside the cabin, slamming the door shut behind him. “He was seen on your street when you left?”

“Yes, he—”

“And you jumped in your car and left?” Ron is already boarding up the door, locking it tight, looking out all the windows. “And you don't see  _ any  _ problem with this?”

“I don't— should I have called you first?”

_ “Ben!”  _ Leslie comes bounding in from her room in sweatpants and an oversized hoodie, barreling straight for him. She slams into him and wraps her arms around his waist, and he realizes now as he looks at her that she's already improving— there's some life in her eyes again, and some color in her face, not quite so frail judging by the death grip she has on his torso. His hands fall to her hair and she looks up at him, eyes wide. “I heard you, just now— he's coming?”

“I'm so sorry,” he chokes, grabbing her face in both hands. “I'm so, so sorry, I wish this wasn't happening, I wish none of it happened at all, but I think he's coming—”

“He’s definitely coming,” Ron barks, and he shuts the window violently, grabbing both Ben and Leslie and pushing them deeper into the house, standing back.  _ “He fucking followed you.” _

It's now, just as it's too late, that Ben realizes his mistake that Ron was trying to tell him about. Of course,  _ of course  _ Newport drove down Shauna’s street. He probably saw Shauna go inside the house, and saw Ben run out. Of course he followed because  _ why wouldn't he?  _ What reason would he not have to follow this lead? And it's his fault, now it  _ really is  _ his fault, because there's heavy footsteps outside and Ron is grabbing a gun, positioning himself in front of them, and any blood shed tonight will be on Ben’s hands.

Just for that, he once again prays it's his own.

He holds Leslie’s hand tight, feeling her flinch as there's a kick to the door, again and again, quite the match against Ron’s own woodworking skills. But even then the locks fall apart under pure rage, and wood can be kicked through, creating vast holes just large enough for a pale hand to enter through, giving him the access he needs to bust down the door.

Leslie screams as Newport stands in the doorway, looking very little what Ben remembered him as.

As you asked anybody, nobody would say this is a teacher. The man has ditched his sweaters and khakis and neatly combed hair for something untamed, something wild, all dark clothes and dirt and a wild look in his eyes. There isn't love there, or the patience that Ben was so used to, but instead a crazed desperation, focusing in on Leslie as soon as he finds her. Newport raises his gun, a small black thing that rivals Ron’s rifles.

“We don't need to do this,” he says, and even his voice is different. Shaky, pleading. Something that terrifies him, down to the core, because there's nothing quite like seeing an ally become a monster. Nothing quite like facing an enemy who used to be a friend. “We really don't have to do this—”

“Stand down, Newport,” Ron demands, his voice booming, his gun trained directly on the intruder. “You ought to get out of here if you know what's good for you.”

“I'm not afraid of you, Swanson. You're a softie at heart—”

“You should be,” he says, and he just raises his gun higher. “You really, really should be.”

Newport falters for a moment, and Ben is foolish to wonder if he has the guts to continue. It's difficult, really, to face a teacher that he trusted, a man that was  _ always  _ there to calm them down whenever he and Leslie would fight. But really, it's not the same man. Newport most likely never was that man. But his wavering, teetering back and forth, trying to keep his balance— there's something sad there. Something most decidedly not sane.

“Ron,” he cries, and his voice is much softer now, a desperate plea. “I'm sorry, but I can't… you know I can't let this go, don't you? She knows too much, too many people know too much—”

“And what's your plan, exactly? Do you really think killing her will end all your problems?”

“I’ll kill her if I have to. Only if I have to. I wanted to avoid that, but I will—”

“Right, you just wanted people to  _ think  _ she was dead.” Ben is surprised by his own voice, and the surprising clarity of it. He doesn't shake, doesn't choke up, but he  _ yells.  _ He accuses. He holds Leslie behind him with one arm and her nails dig into his skin, but it's okay because it means she's still here. “You faked her death so, what? We would give up? Because you couldn't actually kill her?”

“Wyatt—” Ron starts warningly, but Newport waves it away.

“I don't want to have to do this,” he says. “But I  _ will.  _ Stay out of this, Ben, if you know what's good for you—”

_ “I'm not fucking standing down—” _

_ “Just let go!”  _ Newport screams, losing his cool completely, frantically looking back and forth between all of them. He practically gets on his knees in front of Ron, leaning over and not even bothering to hide the tears that redden his face. “Please, god,  _ please.  _ You understand, don't you, Swanson? As another teacher? I can’t risk Traeger finding out, I can’t risk her getting away and telling him everything.  _ I need this job.  _ Please, I can't lose it, I… It’s just me and my son. Bobby is gonna be a sophomore next year and imagine what’ll happen to him if his father is fired for something like this? Our reputation, and the school…  _ I can't go down for this.” _

“Nobody’s fault but your own,” Ben hisses before Ron can get a word out. “You know how fucked this all is, don't you? It doesn't matter if Shauna was eighteen or not,  _ she was your student.  _ And you know that's messed up, and that's why you're scared. She was innocent, Leslie is innocent, and you deserve to go down for it—”

_ “I know I fucked up!”  _ He looks close to ripping his hair out, pacing back and forth in front of them, hitting his head with the side of his gun. “I  _ know  _ I fucked up, but it's too late now, isn't it? I’m not going down for a stupid mistake, and I’m sure as hell not going to let a little girl blackmail me and tell me what I can and can't do. So I suggest you either stand aside and let me take her, or I’ll shoot. I swear to God, I’ll do it. I’ve got nothing left to lose.”

There's silence for a moment, like a stand-off, as Newport points his gun at them, suddenly steady, waiting for a move one way or another. There's nothing but the sound of their breathing, like an odd freeze in time where nobody knows what to say, nobody knows if he’ll follow through.

But Ben is  _ scared.  _ He stares down the barrel of the pistol and wonders if it’ll blow, and where it might land. He imagines many possibilities. He imagines Newport taking Leslie and running with her, where Ben is alone once more, left wandering and wondering and trying to find his way back to her. He imagines Newport shooting her, right in front of his eyes. He imagines screaming and blood and frantically grabbing for her, holding her to his chest, sobbing as the life leaves her and again, Ben is alone. Ben is alone and he's lost and everything is dark and empty and hopeless. He imagines the bullet finds itself in  _ his  _ chest, ripping through him. He imagines dying before he hits the floor and he imagines dying looking into her eyes as she cries above him, and he tells her he loves her, and he tells her it was  _ worth it. _

He imagines Newport dying. He pictures Ron firing his own shot, and the man falls, and they all get to go home tonight. Ben can kiss Leslie and hold her as she sleeps and even though they're broken, they can piece each other back up together again, one bit at a time, however long it takes.

“No,” Ron says, and his tone is final. “No, you aren't taking Leslie anywhere. You do not get to take my daughter  _ anywhere.” _

There's no words left after that.

Leslie gasps at the word  _ daughter,  _ a word that holds far more significance than Ron likely even realizes. He's not her father, and she's not his daughter, and yet, they're  _ family.  _ They're chosen family, even stronger than blood, and just the term spoken out loud solidifies it, making it clear Ron will fight for this, fight to keep his family together. And it's just enough that Newport knows, now, they won't be standing down.

So he runs.

Newport charges towards Ben and Leslie, as if he's desperately attempting to just grab her, take her away, to get around Ben and Ron. Leslie screams, and he hears it right in his ear, stumbling back and shoving her against the wall. He hears her collapse, the way her back flings to the wall and she slides to the floor, but there's no time to check on her now, no time to worry about that. Ben has his arms out to keep Newport at bay and he realizes very suddenly that his hands are empty— he's brought  _ nothing  _ to a gunfight. He has only his body to shield him and Leslie, maybe a good punch to his nose if he can get the right angle, and the hope that Ron has their back.  _ Ron,  _ who's walking backwards, who’s aiming his gun, who's taking advantage of the fact that Newport is not trained on him by any means, and then—

_ A gunshot. _

There's a gunshot, loud enough that the room vibrates with it, and his ears ring. For a moment, time slows down, the world spins, and he can't hear a thing, only the sound of a fired gun and a scream, but he doesn't know from who. There's hands on his body and somebody is shaking him, but they fall back, edging away, and there's  _ red.  _ A splatter of it across the wood floor, a hand in front of his face, and Ben realizes very suddenly that yes, someone was shot, but it wasn't Newport.

Leslie is screaming behind him and suddenly Ben is running, unsure what he's doing, unable to think at all. But Ron Swanson is lying on the floor, and what is he doing? Why is he down? He's supposed to be helping them, he's supposed to save Leslie’s life, he's supposed to shoot Newport and save the day and  _ why is he still on the floor?  _ He grabs at his chest and for all that Ron is, he's very stoic, and he doesn't cry. There's a grunt, a wince in pain, and when Ben falls to his knees next to him, blood soaks his jeans and pours from a spot on Ron’s jacket.

“Ron?” he asks, and his palms find red on the floor. “Mr. Swanson? What are you—? Sir, you can't… I really need you right now, I need you, you know that, right? I can't do this alone, not when I was supposed to be the one to—”

Ron stops him, reaching a hand up to press against Ben’s chest. He freezes, like even his heart can't beat, he can't make a sound, and despite all his denial and his need for this story to end  _ any other way,  _ he knows what has to happen. He knows before Ron even says it.

He grunts through the pain, moving just enough to push his rifle into Ben’s hands. He closes them, grabs him tight, pulls him just close enough for one final message.

_ “Keep your life, son.” _

It's all he can utter before he falls, and Ben grips the rifle with a newfound sense of purpose, and a mission.  _ Keep your life.  _ He doesn't need to die today, that can't happen anymore. Ron is taking his place and now Ben must take his.  _ Keep your life. _

The world spins back into place and even though Ben has bloodstains on his clothes and his ears still ring, he stands, and he turns. The screaming becomes clearer, shouts of his name, of Ron’s name, Leslie’s frantic need to get closer, to make sure everything's okay, but she can't. 

Newport has her. His arm holds her hands behind her back as he uses her like a human shield, his gun held to her head, inching closer and closer. She ought to be dead by now. She  _ should  _ be dead by now, but he realizes it's just by the very fact that Ben is  _ not dead  _ that's keeping her here too, because Newport can't leave any loose ends. Ben knows too much, he’s witnessed too much, and now he's still alive and he's holding a gun, and all that's left to do is bargain.

“Ben,” Newport says, and it's soft, something patient. Eerie, because it's the very same voice he used to use as his history teacher, when he would chastise him for fighting with Leslie in class again. “Ben, listen to me for a moment, would you?”

Ben raises his arms, pointing the rifle, his finger hovering over the trigger. “Why should I do that?”

“Don't lie to yourself, Ben, you know why. I think deep down, you know why. You  _ never liked her,  _ Ben. Do you have any idea how many fights I had to break off between the two of you? You hate her, don't deny it. You  _ hate her,  _ so don't try to play the hero now.”

Leslie doesn't say a word, crying silently, squeezing her eyes shut as if preparing for the next gunshot. Ben’s hands tremble, making the rifle shake, letting the words sink in. “I don't,” he insists, but it's weak. “I don't, I don't. I never hated her.”

_ “You're lying,”  _ he hisses, taking a step closer, dragging Leslie with him. “I was there to witness it. I saw you at your  _ worst,  _ I know exactly what you're capable of. You don't have to pretend anymore, Ben. Swanson is dying and Leslie will, too. You can end it. You can let her die right here and now, and move on with your life, and never have to feel trapped by your rival again. Doesn't that sound nice, to you?”

_ “No,”  _ he cries. “No, no, no.”

“Remember that feeling you had at graduation? Remember when I told you Swanson needed you because Leslie was gone? You got to do the speech you wanted to do. You got  _ exactly  _ what you wanted because she was gone. Your life was made better because she was gone. You can have that for the rest of your life if you just  _ put the gun down.” _

But no.  _ No.  _ Ben doesn't hate Leslie. He never has, and he can't see a future where he ever will. That graduation night was something empty, some ephemeral feeling that left him gutted, throwing up in a toilet and just wondering if she's okay. It wasn't real joy he felt, or genuine accomplishment, and Ben doesn't even recognize that boy up on the graduation stage anymore. No, he's become so much more than that. He's become someone who loves Leslie and loves freely. He's someone who was willing to die for her if it meant she got to live. He’s someone who’s just realized that while you can choose to die for someone, it's just as well to kill for someone, too.

“No,” Ben says with finality, and his hands steady on the gun. “No, she's not going to die tonight. And you don't get to take her away from me. Not anymore.  _ Not again.” _

“I don't think you know what you're—”

And Ben lunges to the side, aims with his heart, and braces himself for the impact.

This gunshot is almost significantly louder, but maybe only because Ben is the one who caused it. Maybe only because it was his aim, his bullet, his murder. It hits his target right in the head, right where he can be sure he’ll do no more damage. There's more blood and it's all on his hands and in Leslie's hair as she drops to the floor, but Ben can't move. He’s frozen in place, and he realizes the rifle is no longer in his hands. It's lost somewhere, maybe even thrown, but that doesn't erase the impact of what he’s done.

He’s different now. He's Ben Wyatt, a murderer.

And the worst part is, he isn't quite sure if he feels bad.

There's certainly no regret. It had to be done, and now Leslie gets to live, and it's over, and Newport is lying on the floor in his own blood and  _ oh god, Ben just killed someone.  _ Ben really just killed someone, and he stares at his palms thinking of what they’ve done, and his eyes are blank. None of this happened according to plan. 

And Ron is still on the floor, staring straight up at the ceiling.

_ This isn't the happy ending he wanted to give Leslie. _

At least if Ben had died, he wouldn't be here to see her fall apart. But this is a new hell, one where she bends over Ron, hitting him, pounding at his chest, shaking him violently. She's begging, heaving, trying to breathe, trying to understand. Ben watches from his knees, moving to crawl closer to her, hoping against all odds that somehow there will be a miracle, somehow this can end up okay again.

_ “Please,”  _ Leslie chokes, wrapping her arms around Ron, her head falling to his chest. “Please don't go, don't leave me, don't…  _ Don’t die, Ron, you can't leave me.  _ I need you, don't you know that? I'm not… I’m not strong enough to do this alone.”

“Leslie,” Ben whispers, but she doesn't hear him.

“ _ RON! Ron, Ron, Ron, wake up… please, wake up, I need you…  _ Don’t leave me like this, don't leave me like my dad did.  _ You're the only parent I have left—” _

But Ron still stares, and he doesn't move. And surely if Ron was here, he would've said something by now, he wouldn't leave Leslie hanging like this. He wouldn't leave her to cry. But he  _ did what he could.  _

He died for her. Like any real father would.

_ “I can't lose anybody else,”  _ Leslie whispers, just as Ben reaches her. He pulls her into his chest and she fights, but he wraps his arms around her, trying to hold her back, trying to keep her together while everything around her is falling apart. “Do you hear me, Swanson? It's not funny anymore. It's not a good… not a good joke. Just wake up, just wake up and we can—”

_ “Leslie,”  _ Ben says again, and only this time does she stop, as if stricken, and his next words break his heart as well as hers. “Leslie. It's over. He's gone.”

Ben holds her together. And all Leslie has left in her is tears. No more begging, no more words, no more hope. 

_ He's gone.  _


	21. Chapter 21

Ben and Leslie don't move for a long time.

There's an odd silence in the cabin, something eerie, and they don't know what to do. They don't know who to call, or how to fix this, or where to go from here. So they stare, transfixed, waiting for the weight of what's happened to truly hit them. Waiting for the burden of their grief to pull them down and drown them until it's all they can feel.

But right now, it's just numb. As if it's not real, and nothing happened at all.

Leslie leans into Ben’s chest, his arms wrapped across her chest and her waist, keeping a warm weight on her as she grabs Ron’s hand, studying the way he doesn't pull away, doesn't flinch, doesn't move at all. It's dead weight, his hand that much heavier, dropping to the hardwood as she releases it with a thud. She gasps at the sound, and then she's crying again, much quieter than before, but so much more gut wrenching. They're broken sobs, ones where she struggles for breath— sobs with empty emotion, as if she's given up and she's no longer crying with the expectation that things will change, but rather with the all-consuming feeling that things are over, and it's time to mourn.

The tears fall down her cheeks as she holds him, pulling gently on Ron’s arm, as if he's just deeply asleep and will wake up any minute now. But the blood coating his shirt, as well as their hands and their jeans, is the ultimate clue, and there's no more pretending.

“Ben?” she whispers at long last without turning to look at him. “What do we do now?”

He wishes he had the right answer for that. He wishes more than anything he can tell her it's all going to be okay, he’ll be back and she doesn't have to worry, everything can go back to normal. But he can't even lie. It won't help either of them. Newport is dead, but so is Ron, and life moves on. 

“Well,” he breathes. “We close his eyes, and we let him sleep.” With her hand in his, they both reach forward and very gently touch their fingers to his eyelids, pulling them down until they're closed. And that, really, is the biggest sense of  _ finality,  _ of an ending, something that hits him right in the gut and threatens to send him keeling over. “And we get back up again,” he continues, unsure he believes his own words. “We dust ourselves off, and we get back up again.”

“I don't think I know how to do that.”

“Well, sure you do.” He's talking out of his ass, making things up as he goes, but it's all he can do. He just holds her and presses his lips to her hair and wishes he could make it all go away, but at the end of the day, the best person to help her is herself. “Because you're Leslie Knope. And you're never down for long.”

And for the first time in over an hour, she looks away from Ron, releases his hand, and she turns. She falls into Ben’s chest and lets herself cry until she's all cried out, grabbing his shirt in her fist, listening for his heartbeat, as if to remind herself that there is still life left here. There are still beautiful things.

“So let's get back up again, okay?” he whispers. “It’ll be hard for a long time, but let's get back up. Let's do something. Let's end this.”

…

Ben finds it hard to cope with being a murderer.

He doesn't sleep well. Leslie can't let go of him and asks to stay just one more time, so she's in his bed, exhaustion taking over her, and she passes out as soon as she changes into one of his shirts and slips under the covers. He means to stay next to her, he really does, but there's a shameful feeling that plagues him, something that tells him he's not allowed to touch her with the same hands that took someone’s life.

After an hour, he gets up and finds himself in the bathroom, locking the door so she can't get in. He curls up on the tile and stares at his hands, washing them again and again and  _ again,  _ and even though there's no more blood there, they still don't feel clean. He scrubs and lathers and scratches at his palms, under his fingernails, up his arms, just trying to feel okay again, trying to get rid of that ghostly feeling of death on his skin.

He doesn't know if he should regret it or not.

On one hand, he doesn't. He really, really doesn't. Because Newport killed Ron, and was planning on killing Leslie, and he had to do what he could. It was defense when there was little left to do, when he was holding Leslie by the arms and pressing a gun to her temple, and all Ben could do was shoot to save her life. Because he just  _ couldn't lose her again.  _ Not like that. He doesn't think he could cope with having to go to a second funeral for her.

He remembers very vividly, like it's happening all over again, his fingers squeezing the trigger, the force of it pushing him back, the sound it made. How his ears were ringing afterwards, and the world went blurry, and when he came back to reality a man was on the ground and there was blood around his shoes. And Leslie was alive. He can't regret that.

But on the other hand, he still took someone's  _ life. _

Newport was a horrible man. He was someone who hid his cruel nature with sweaters and khaki and a smile, putting his hand on your shoulders and reassuring you it'll be alright. He was someone who feigned patience, someone you felt you could trust, someone you never imagined would hurt you. A man who had a  _ son,  _ Bobby, who had been the Freshman class representative in Student Council. A kid who was a little slow, a little goofy, but kind hearted at the end of it all, a kid who likely relied on his father and was now left with no one, no mother to hold and a big empty house all to himself. Come to think of it, he probably hasn't seen much of his father all summer while he's been away in Indianapolis.

He was a man with a family and a legacy to protect. A man who cared about his reputation and man who loved, feared, hoped, cried, and laughed just like anyone else. A man who made terrible choices. A man who was lonely enough to find comfort in a student. A man who took the very last resort when he was threatened and backed into a corner and had nowhere else to turn.

A man who  _ doesn't deserve fucking sympathy. _

Red hot anger surges through Ben, starting at his chest and spreading through the rest of his body, just imagining the pain Newport put Leslie through. He can't keep the images out of his head, the chains on her wrists, her blood on the floor, her screams echoing off the walls with no one around to hear them. What did she call for? Whose names did she cry out? How did she sleep at night? He imagines her, beautiful, bright Leslie, curled on the floor with a man above her, hitting her until she bleeds, torturing her enough to push her to the brink of death and then having the  _ audacity  _ to take pictures and send them to the police to spread around.

No, no, he doesn't deserve sympathy. He doesn't deserve Ben’s  _ regret.  _ He deserves to rot in hell and Ben should be fucking glad he put him there. It pulses in his mind until it turns itself into an actual headache, going back and forth between calling himself a hero and a goddamn  _ murderer.  _ He wants to scream, and even though he can wash the blood off his hands he can erase it from behind his eyes, picturing it on the cabin’s hardwood floor, damp on a dark shirt, pooling at his feet, flecks of it in blonde hair. It's enough to drive him insane, pushing himself up from the floor and pounding at his forehead, pacing back and forth.

“Go away,” he begs it, squeezing his eyes shut,  _ “go away go away go away go away go—” _

With a burst of anger he didn't even know he possessed, suddenly he flings his fist at the bathroom mirror, watching as it shatters, refusing to move as glass shards rain down on his hand, covering the counter, filling the sink, cutting up his hand. 

He stares at his cut palm, watching the blood seep from the skin. 

He doesn't wash it away this time. If anything, it looks like it belongs there.

“Ben?”

There's a scared whisper at the bathroom door, tugging at the handle, and he wouldn't have let her in except that her voice is trembling and he knows right now it's hard for her to be alone. He unlocks the door and Leslie comes crashing in, colliding with him, covering them both with a blanket she brought from his bed.

“You're hurt,” she whispers as she reaches for his palm, swiping some of the blood away with her thumb. “You punched the mirror.”

“I did,” he admits. “I kind of needed to punch something.”

“Maybe punch a pillow next time?” she requests, wrapping her hand around his, and just the warmth he feels from that is enough to calm him down until he can feel the beating of his heart again, the ringing in his ears going down, finally feeling the sting of the cuts. “Something that won't hurt you.”

His arms wrap around her, dragging her closer, and for a moment, he wants to kiss her. He hasn't yet, not since they admitted they loved each other— it hasn't felt like the right time yet. He could kiss her, and they could calm each other down and go back to bed and fall asleep in each other's arms, but all of a sudden something hits him so forcefully that it nearly knocks him over.

“Hey,” he says. “As soon as we wake up, let's go to the police station, okay?”

“What? Why would we go there? They're awful, and they do nothing—”

“Exactly,” he gasps.  _ “Exactly.  _ We're going to go force a confession out of Chief Sanderson.”

… 

News comes very quickly in the following days.

As it turns out, with the announcement of Newport’s death, no one is quite so eager to stay in hiding. Without the threat still looming over him, Chief Sanderson comes forward with very little pressure on Ben and Leslie’s end, coming up with a statement for all of Pawnee.

_ Recently it's come to light that two teachers at Pawnee High School have lost their lives in the same night. Nick Newport and Ron Swanson were both excellent teachers who worked very hard at what they did, but that's not all to the story. _

_ Ron Swanson was shot by Nick Newport, falling heroically while defending one of our own, eighteen-year-old Leslie Knope, who has been discovered alive and returned back home. She has since given her testimony, and now I, Chief David Sanderson Sr., will be doing the same, in order to shed light on this ordeal that's been plaguing this town. _

_ It is true that I was aware of Mr. Newport’s actions at the time of them happening. It is true that he paid me to work with him using his inherited Sweetum’s fortune, even before Pawnee High’s graduation, to ensure that his plan would unfold without a hitch. To those who aren't aware, Mr. Newport kidnapped Miss Knope on June 2nd, after school the day of Pawnee High’s graduation. Newport had felt threatened by Miss Knope when she found him in a compromising position with one of his students, eighteen-year-old Shauna Malwae-Tweep, who has also since come forward with her own testimony. Newport struck Miss Knope in the parking lot, leaving her car, and instructed me to get rid of any tapes implicating him.  _

_ It is true that I did as I was instructed and I was paid well. It is true that I felt anger towards Miss Knope because of her previous romantic relationship she once had with my son, Dave Sanderson. I was purposely negligent and did not put much time and effort into Miss Knope’s case, including calling off the investigation entirely when I was instructed. _

_ I was asked to spread around those gruesome photos of Miss Knope, and to announce that she was dead and the investigation was over, in an attempt to keep Pawnee away from the trail, hoping this way it would cease being talked about.  _

_ I understand my actions were wrong and unjust, as well as highly illegal, and it is for this reason that I step down and I surrender myself to higher authority. I wish the city of Pawnee all the best in the future, and I apologize for the dishonesty. _

The town watches as Sanderson is taken into custody, watches as all implicated policemen are arrested themselves. They're taken away with promises of a new, better watched and trained force, but to his side, Leslie just snorts, shaking her head.

“Cops are bastards, anyway,” she hisses. “I don't think I’ll ever care for them again.”

And really, Ben has to agree.

From there, several articles are released in quick fashion, mostly from the Pawnee Journal. One journalist writes a thrilling piece on Ben and Leslie and the events of the cabin, something that both of them refuse to comment on, although it does paint Ben as quite the hero for taking down Newport the way that he did.

Nobody seems to blame Ben. Except for himself.

As the week passes and the news is all anyone can talk about, Ben sinks further into solitude, sneaking away from even Leslie to hide into his bedroom and curl up under the covers, trying to remember what things felt like before any of this happened. The events hit him slowly, a little more each day, until the full weight of what he's done hits him on a Friday night just before Leslie plans to come over.

He finds himself overcome with sobs, curled up in his empty bathtub with all his clothes on and the curtain closed, trying to shut the world away. He doesn't want to see Leslie, not now, not when she has every reason to hate him, because it's not his  _ murderer  _ title that he's crying about, but rather the fact that this is  _ all his fault. _

Ron’s death is his fault.

He can't possibly be convinced otherwise, because none of this would've happened if it weren't for him. It was because of  _ him  _ that Newport found them at the cabin, because he hopped right in his car and accidentally led him right there. Newport found them and killed Ron and nearly killed Leslie  _ all because Ben led him right to them.  _ All because Ben was too scared and couldn't wait to get to Leslie, didn't even think to call them before he got there.

It all could've been avoided with just a goddamn  _ phone call. _

He sees no way that Leslie  _ won’t  _ resent him for this, not when she's hated him for much less in the past. This line they currently walk is fragile, and he's always known it, waiting and waiting and waiting for it to break again, and he'll lose her, just like he has before, just as he’s always known. She’ll look at him and see someone she doesn't recognize, and he'll no longer be the Ben that she loves, but instead the enemy she's always known him to be, a killer, a monster who took away the only real parent she had left.

He doesn't deserve to be fucking standing here right now while Ron is gone.  _ Ben can't be what Ron was.  _ And he doesn't know how to fix this.

He hears the front doorbell ring and while usually he would run to get it, gathering Leslie into his arms, today he just can't move. He shifts in the bathtub and tugs at the restraining neckline of his t-shirt, feeling robbed of air, trying to block out all noise. His eyes stay squeezed shot as he listens vaguely to the doorbell, which soon turns into footsteps up the stairs, and then the unlocking of the bathroom door.

“Ben?” she calls, the door slamming open. She drops the bathroom key to the counter and pulls the shower curtains open, and there she stands, all red eyes and trembling fingers. “Oh my god,  _ Ben.” _

He only groans, trying to keep back the tears, but as soon as she touches him it's like a dam breaks. She grabs his arms and pulls him out of the tub, trying to hold all his weight in her arms, and they collapse to the tile together, Ben instantly breaking out into aching sobs again. And even though he didn't even want Leslie here, now he can't let go of her. He holds her so tightly that he worries he's keeping her from breathing, but she doesn't say a thing, only pulling him between her legs and pressing his head to her chest, running her fingers deftly through his hair as he cries into her neck.

“Hey,” she whispers, holding him together. “Hey, what's wrong?”

“I'm sorry,” Ben chokes. “I'm so, so sorry—”

“What are you talking about? What are you apologizing for?”

_ “Everything.”  _ It spills out of him without restraint, unable to keep it together, unable to lie anymore. He’s said he loves her, but did he  _ apologize?  _ Has he made it better? Has he made  _ peace?  _ A declaration of love does not erase all the wrongs of the past, it doesn't magically make things better, even if she feels the same way. “Oh god, everything. I was… I was horrible to you, you know that? I was so awful. And I don't deserve this— any of it.”

“Don't say that,” she hisses. “Don't you dare say that.”

“Well, why not? It's the truth. I gave you hell for years, I kept you on a string. I kissed you on a dare and pretended it never happened. I taunted you in the classroom and the locker rooms and a goddamn closet, and I pretended like it meant nothing. And even after all that, even up til the end, I was cruel. I resented you for a stupid  _ speech  _ that was out of your control, and you deserved to say it anyway. You deserved to, and you never even got to—”

_ “Hey,”  _ Leslie interrupts, holding him tighter in an effort to stop his rambling. “Hey. I say this with all the love in my heart, but shut the fuck up. Just… shut your mouth.”

“But—”

_ “No.  _ No, I’m not doing this. That's… that's in the past. And it wasn't just you. We were both stupid, and cruel, and awful to each other. We goaded each other on and I kissed you,  _ twice,  _ on a dare and after the debate, and don't forget  _ I’m  _ the one that got on my knees, didn't let you touch me, and never talked about it again. But it's fine, and it's okay, because we  _ both  _ realize what went wrong. And from here, we can both—”

“But I killed Ron.”

The statement hangs in the air, effectively silencing Leslie, leaving her with her mouth open and eyes wide. She stares at him with shock, leaning back a little to truly look at him, and he watches her—  _ really watches her,  _ as if waiting for the moment her eyes will turn dark and she’ll have realized what he's done.

“I'm sorry, what?  _ Newport  _ killed Ron.”

It's frankly a miracle she can even say it, and even then it's with a tremble of her jaw, and he worries she'll cry again, and he won't be able to hold back from comforting her. He can't have that, not when he's supposed to be preparing himself for heartbreak, not when he's trying to put everything out on the line here.

“Maybe Newport’s the one that shot the gun. But I’m the one that led him there.”

_ “Oh.”  _ She gasps, smacking her lips together, and her eyes narrow. “So that's what you think happened?”

“It's what I  _ know  _ happened. I was fucking stupid, Leslie. Shauna told us Newport was in the neighborhood and I was so worried, so goddamn worried, I just got in my car and drove to you. If I had stayed, or if I had at least  _ called…  _ he wouldn't be dead right now. It's just… it's just the truth.”

He stares at her as if willing her to understand, as if begging for heartbreak, begging for the yelling, begging to be let go. He puts his heart in her hands and he  _ begs,  _ his eyes red with tears, thinking over and over again of Ron falling, the gunshot, the ringing in his ears, the blood. Pleading with him to get back up, but instead having the gun pushed into his hand, whispered words to keep his life, a promise that no one else on their side had to die today.

_ My fault. My fault, my fault, my fault, my fault— _

_ “No,”  _ Leslie says again, more insistent this time. “No. I don't care. I can’t stop you from thinking it, but you can't force me to blame you. I'm… I’m done blaming you for everything that goes on in my life. I’m done insisting that every bad thing that happens is somehow your doing. That part of my life is over, a closed book that I refuse to ever open again. You understand that?”

“But I… If I had never—”

_ “Shut up!”  _ she cries, grabbing his face in her hands. “Shut up, it's over because  _ I love you,  _ okay? I love you for all that you were then and all that you are now. I love you no matter what you've done, because I think you're a good person and I think together we're getting even better everyday.”

“But I don't deserve—”

He’s cut off as she pulls him towards her, palms at his cheeks, kissing him fully on the mouth. They both gasp as they meet, as if they've been waiting for exactly this moment all their lives, even better than the first two times. She kisses him deeply, with more purpose than ever before, caressing his cheek with a sort of vulnerability they can only achieve now. When she pulls away, he's breathless, and doesn't at all remember what he was saying before.

“You kissed me,” he stammers, feeling light-headed and dizzy, still feeling the ghost of her on his lips.

“I did,” she admits. “And that's three times now, might I add. I'm just waiting for the day you finally decide to be the one to kiss me.”

And he can't help it— he grins. As if drawn to her, as if physically incapable of holding back anymore, he grabs for her, hands on her face and in her hair, pulling her lips back to his, already missing them. And this time is heavier, as their lips part against each other’s, struggling to pull the other in closer. Her fist wraps around his shirt, grabbing as much of it as she can, but Ben takes it one further.

As Leslie moves to straddle his lap, he grips her hip and flips her, cradling her head as he presses her against the tile, hovering over her, leaning down to kiss her again. He presses his weight against her, her hips slotted against his, and she  _ groans,  _ fully groans, arching her back just enough that he can feel her bucking, and they're breathing heavily against each other's skin.

He leans to gently kiss the crook of her neck, listening to the way her breathing changes, and as if she's brought new life into him, as if she's sparked something in his mind, an idea hits him, and he pulls away.

“I love you,” he tells her first. “In case I didn't make that clear. I also love you for then and love you for now.”

She smiles, reaching a hand up to touch his jaw. “Is everything okay? Because honestly, our experience together has been limited, and if I’m being brutally honest, I kind of want you to bend me over this counter right now.”

“Oh, I can do that and more,” he laughs, kissing her again for good measure. It just feels  _ right  _ to do, to kiss her, like it's something he's supposed to have been doing for years and will do for years to come. “But first… I… wanted to ask you about something.”

“What's up?”

“Are you sad that you missed it?” he asks. “Graduation? Because I was thinking of what I said, about how you were supposed to do the speech and you would've been great at it, but then I had to do it because you were gone, and I just… wonder if that upsets you.”

She smiles sadly, moving to sit up, and he helps her, grabbing onto her hand to rub circles into her palm. “I mean, of course I miss it. Of course I’m sad. I've been dreaming about graduation for forever, and now… I’m not really sure where I stand.” She bites her lip, and one of her hands instinctively goes to her pocket, where she seems to grab at something inside. “When I was…  _ taken,  _ actually, when I woke up, I was missing everything but one thing.”

“And what’s that?”

She swallows hard. “My speech,” she says. “My graduation speech that I spent months perfecting. It was just crumpled up in my pocket. I don't really have any use for it anymore, but I keep it with me anyway, because I used to read it again and again and again, and now it kind of reminds me of hope. Reminds me that I can be okay again, even if it takes a while.” She grips the paper tightly in her palm before returning it to her pocket, allowing her eyes to go glassy briefly, before shaking out of it and watching him, narrowing her eyes at the suspicious grin currently spreading across his face. “Why do you ask?”

“Oh, no reason,” Ben laughs. “No reason at all. Now, how about that counter?”


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's insane to me that this is already the last chapter, because I feel like I've been working on this story for so long. Needless to say, it's a story that means a great deal to me, and one I am insanely proud of myself for having written, because I genuinely never thought I would get here to the end. I would once again like to thank my beta readers, Ness, Zi, Jordan, and Meg, whom I couldn't have done this without, and for all my readers and supporters who made writing this easier and much more fun.  
> Thank you for everything.<3

As it turns out, all things get better with time.

It's slow, of course, but now, as the nights grow darker and they curl into bed together and the days are silent, they realize they have all the time in the world. There's no clock, no hourglass counting down time, there's no  _ due date  _ for getting better. There's just an infinite stretch ahead of them with promises of fond memories and sweet kisses and comforting after nightmares. And there's definitely plenty of nightmares.

Ben takes his time. With healing, but also with his plans. He's got big ones, and he can't mess this up, not when it comes to her. She's been so patient, and reassuring, and she wakes up every night just to pace like a ghost, and she deserves something  _ big,  _ something to make her happy, something to show her exactly how much he loves her.

It's just not fair to her that the only way she can pass out is through tears, just to wake up hours later with haunting nightmares. And Ben holds her tight and shakes off his own nightmares, and he  _ thinks,  _ he really thinks, about a way to feel like this is ending. Because it won't end, really, not for a while. Not while they're both going into therapy and struggling with their mental health, not while they're clawing at their arms and trying not to cry because there's  _ bacon  _ in the fridge and they can't bring themselves to eat it. No, it won't end forever. But there has to be some way to prove that the worst is over, and all that's left to do is heal.

Ben can't do this on his own. He never really has been.

“Is everything okay?” Ann gasps into the phone when he calls her. “Is she alright? Should I come over? Should I—”

“No, no, everything’s okay,” he interrupts. “She's okay. She's taking a nap right now, actually.”

He can hear the relief flood through her. “Oh, thank god. How did you manage to make that happen?”

Ben smirks. “Melatonin.”

“God— I should've thought of that. Then what's up? I could still head over if you want—”

“That might be a good idea, actually.” Ann has been coming over quite a lot recently, to Ben’s house where Leslie has been splitting her time between here and Ann’s house like some kind of child of divorce. It's been nice to hang out with just the three of them, catching up as friends, where no one ever feels like a third wheel. But it's been a while since Ben has seen Ann alone, and now more than ever, he needs her. “I, uh… I kind of have an  _ idea—” _

“Oh, god.”

“—and I need you to help me pull it off. It's a good one, I swear! And I think she'll really like it. I just need all hands on deck if we're going to make it work. I’ll call up Tom and Andy and the others too, but honestly, I’ve always kinda needed you the most.”

Ann sighs, taking a moment, and he knows she's considering the risks. What they have now is so fragile, saved only through repetition and a lack of surprises— they do the same things everyday, wake up at the same time, eat the same meals. It grounds Leslie more than anything, keeps her from breaking down, and it's dangerous to interrupt the flow.

But also, where will they ever go by being careful?

“What's your idea?” she says at last, and Ben grins.

“Well, I’m glad you asked.”

***

Practically everyone is here before Leslie is.

A small crowd stands in front of him awaiting instructions, looking out over Pawnee High’s football field, where none of them have been since their graduation night months before now. There's almost an odd sense of deja vu, where his classmates surround him and he's preparing to make a speech and Leslie is nowhere to be found, but there are unmistakable differences.

Ron Swanson isn't here. He isn't barking orders or trying to make sure everyone is in position or pretending like he doesn't care about what's going on here. There's an empty space where he's meant to be, and they all feel it, Ben can see it on all their faces.

“When’s Leslie coming?” April asks, a little eagerly. She hasn't seen her since the night they saved her, hiding out only with Ben and Ann, and everyone's a little anxious at the prospect of seeing her again after previously thinking her dead.

“Ann is with her,” Ben announces to the group at large. “She's gonna drive her over when it's time. But we still have work to do.”

He’s started the decorating with help from Ann, as well as Tom and Donna, who have insisted they’re  _ experts with parties and bling.  _ It's been hours in the making, setting up chairs and a stage, calling up a handful of teachers, and getting enthusiastic approval from Principal Chris Traeger, who’s practically jumping up and down now, clapping his hands with excitement. There's an extra graduation robe and the music is set, the stands are open, and Ben can feel the excitement in the air, the feeling of an ending, something so close and yet so far from their original graduation.

“Principal Traeger?” Ben asks, taking a deep breath. “You have her diploma?”

Chris grins, all teeth, and waves a deep blue diploma case over his head. “All signed, with her name on it. I must say, after every truly horrible thing that's happened the last few months, this is  _ literally  _ the best idea anyone could have ever come up with.” He looks at the crowd around him, and raises his arms once more. “Don't you all agree?”

They cheer, really  _ cheer,  _ and as much as Ben wants to bask in the glow of doing something good, there's still work to be done. His phone chimes in the midst of it all and it's Ann, in the car with Leslie on their way over, but it's not  _ quite  _ ready.

Ben scans the crowd, looking for just one face, just  _ one,  _ that's nowhere to be found. One he's left multiple voicemails and even stops at their doorstep when he was desperate, just as he was about to call it quits. 

But Leslie is on her way and everyone is in position, and it's all he can do to finish setting up and try to push away his fears.

_ ‘How is she?’  _ he texts Ann, and she answers right away.

_ ‘We’re in the parking lot. She’s… not in the greatest mood today. A little confused why we're here.’ _

Deep breaths, he tells himself. It’ll be okay. It'll go according to plan. This can be good for them, this can be  _ great.  _

All his guests will come and everything will go according to plan. There's no need to worry. As long as he's just  _ patient…  _

_ 'Bring her in,’  _ he messages back.  _ 'Let's do this.’ _

***

Needless to say, she doesn't expect it.

Leslie walks towards the field with Ann on her arm, looking tired and worn-out and like she’d rather be doing  _ anything  _ right now than be outside, but the giddy look on Ann’s face is infectious, and Ben senses the change in her demeanor as he walks closer.

“What are you doing?” she asks, looking wide-eyed around the field with awe. “Oh my god— what are you doing?”

Ben grins at her, holding out his hand for her to take. Their fingers intertwine and he drags her closer, if only to whisper something directly into her ear. “Happy graduation day,” he says to her— behind them, Tom and Donna are moving to present her with her cap and gown, in the appropriate deep blue of Pawnee High’s school colors, and she's practically moved to tears as she takes it from them.

“Might wanna put those on, boo,” Tom grins as Leslie clutches her cap. “A little birdie told me the ceremony is starting soon, and you're playing a big role.”

“I am?” she asks, spinning around to look up at Ben.

“You are,” he confirms. “Hey, still got that graduation speech in your pocket?”

Her eyes really do water now, her hand instinctively going to her jean pockets, clutching something tightly inside them. She nods mutely, and he notes the shake of her palms as she slides on her gown, so he helps her with her cap. He grabs it from her and his fingers slide deftly to her hair, and she freezes as he tucks the strands behind her ear, smoothing it out, and fitting the cap very snug to her head, making sure her tassel lays on the correct side.

“You look beautiful,” he tells her, and something seizes in him as he looks at her. This is how it was supposed to be, months ago, at the original graduation.  _ This  _ is how she was supposed to look, all bright and shiny with a gown that brings out her eyes, a new light shining there that tells him everything will be okay. He was supposed to look at her and walk with her and listen as she spoke, and maybe,  _ just maybe,  _ if they were lucky, they would exchange shy smiles, something painfully knowing of all they've got through together.

But now? It's so different now, and they’re very different people. She’s wearing jeans instead of a dress and there's only a handful of people instead of hundreds. Newport is long gone and there's no  _ Ron,  _ no one to shake her hand and hold her tight after she’s received her diploma and thrown her cap, and maybe it's because of that that Ben kisses her now. He sweeps her up, really, planting his hand at the small of her back and practically dipping her, and she nearly slips, giggling against his mouth, prompting him to say it just  _ one more time. _

“So beautiful,” he mumbles. “Beautiful.”

“You did all this?” she asks, refusing to let go of him. “For me?”

He looks a little sheepish. “Well, you missed your graduation. And after everything you've worked for… that just didn't seem fair.”

“I can't believe you. I really can't believe you. Oh my god! It's perfect, it's so perfect— I want to talk to everybody—”

“You do?”

She’s been very much a shut-in lately, so unlike her old self that Ben and Ann have become increasingly worried. Just the idea that she wants to talk to everyone now, that she's so excited at the prospect of it… it's like a little glimpse back into the real Leslie Knope, the one who gets back up again and the one who fights pain with love.

“I do! Where are—  _ oh!” _

Figures  _ crash  _ into them, quite literally, and they steal Leslie away from Ben. There's lots of giggling and shouting and shrieks of excitement, blurs of hair and arms, and soon Leslie finds herself not just tackled by Andy, but by all their friends, making their way over, stealing her for a hug, so overwhelmed that tears start to spill.

“Oh my god,” April cries, brushing away her tears and trying to pretend like they're not there at all. “I know I’ve already seen you, but— god, you look so good.”

“I missed you so much,” Leslie sobs.

“Thank god you're back,” Jen adds, who has managed to attach herself to Ann in the midst of the chaos. “Honestly, this town is hell without you. Nobody knows what to do. The level of incompetence in this town…  _ staggering.” _

“It's just boring without you, girl,” Donna says, taking her turn to pull Leslie into a hug. “This wasn't the kind of  _ drama  _ anybody asked for. Really, this summer I was expecting news on you and Wyatt, finally.”

Jean-Ralphio  _ ooooohs  _ like a child, and Tom grins, clapping his hands together. “Oh, who's gonna tell her? Who's gonna? Can I tell her? Knope and Wyatt are totally banging. Like,  _ super  _ boning—”

“Tom!” Ben exclaims, blushing, but Leslie just breaks out into laughter.

“Actually, it's kind of really refreshing that this is the topic of conversation,” she says, grabbing Ben’s hand again. “It feels… normal, you know? Anyway, we are banging, actually, and he just so happens to have a taut, narrow frame like a sexy elf king, and a magic penis—”

“Oh my god!” Tom screams, flailing his arms. “Not that much information!"

“Actually, I can agree on elf king,” Donna observes, and April pretends to retch, reaching up to cover Andy’s ears.

“Think of the children, won't you?”

“And for once I think April and I agree on something,” Ann adds, leaning into Jen’s side. “Besides, I think we should get going. Pretty sure we’re starting soon, and there’s a couple more guests that…”

Ben shoots Ann a warning look, hoping to stop her from spoiling the surprises, if only because he's not so sure there  _ will  _ be other guests. The only one he can bank on now is Shauna, who pops up just as the others start to disperse, sporting her own cap and gown and looking healthier than ever.

“Shauna?” Leslie calls out, and the girl grins, looking shy, as if unsure what to do. “Oh my god, I— you're okay.”

_ “You're  _ okay,” she corrects, looking Leslie up and down. “I mean, we all thought that… I thought that—”

“I know. But I just… wow. I don't know what to say.”

“Shauna is graduating too,” Ben adds, unable to help the grin that spreads across his features. He feels particularly proud of setting up this moment, for allowing these two girls to meet again, the ones who understand dealing with Newport more than anybody else in this world.

There's a bond they share now. Something that won't just go away. Something that might just create a lifelong friendship. 

“I am,” Shauna says. “I mean, I know I technically dropped out, but… but we talked to Traeger. We’re working it out. I’m walking today and then I’ll be focusing on finishing up the last of my classes. I’m gonna be going to therapy. I think… I think I’m really going to be okay.”

Something overwhelms Leslie then, and she can't hold back. She gasps with an outpouring of emotion, and then she's throwing her arms around Shauna, and both girls are hugging and freely sobbing, and there's something so intimate about it that Ben takes a step back. He watches the moment as it happens, watches as they whisper to each other, reassure the other that they're alright, and maybe it would be enough. Maybe that alone could satisfy Ben, except that there's a nagging feeling in his chest and as he sees a shadow in his peripheral vision, black heels against the turf, and he knows that this is only the next step in his overarching plan.

He slips away from Leslie and Shauna for only a moment to greet this newcomer, hands in his pockets, feeling for all the world like he's nothing but a bug this woman could easily step on. Even much shorter than him, she's a presence to behold, her lips pursed, watching Leslie from afar.

“Marlene,” Ben greets her, holding out his hand to shake. “I'm really glad you made it.”

“I wasn't sure you were serious about all this,” she sighs, taking in the sight. “I thought it was just a cruel joke.”

“No,” he says. “No, not when it comes to Leslie.”

“And you're sure she wants this? When she sees me, you're sure she’ll be okay with this?”

“Trust me,” Ben tells her, “there's nothing she would want more.”

His words are punctuated with a gasp, something strangled, as footsteps come running in their direction. Leslie is breathless and her eyes are wide and she’s staring at the pair like she can't really believe it. Like this was already far too much to be true, but now she must really be dreaming. 

“Mom?”

They stare at each other for a moment, feet apart, both unsure exactly where to go from here. There's something fragile in the way they look at each other, a reminder of how long it’s been. Maybe it's because Ben hears Leslie cry for her mother at night in the midst of her nightmares, or maybe it's because Marlene thought the last time she would see her daughter would be at her own funeral, but that fragile wall between them suddenly shatters, and Leslie is sobbing, and Marlene,  _ Marlene—  _ as crisp and professional and put-together as she really is, for  _ all  _ that she is, she  _ chokes _ , and she breaks.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Marlene croaks. “Oh— I missed you so much.”

“You did?”

“I really…  _ really  _ did.”

Leslie doesn't move for a moment, as if trying to figure out exactly how truthful her mother is being. She can't be blamed, not after everything, for being a little wary, for fearing that her words are lies, but she  _ wants  _ to believe her, that much is obvious.

“I didn't… I didn't trust you, you know,” Leslie says, her voice a little stronger. “I couldn't. It didn't feel like you were my mother.”

Marlene doesn't say anything for once, but instead she waits. She allows Leslie to say her piece, and she doesn't interrupt, she doesn't say a word as tears stream down her daughter’s face and overwhelm her.

“And I just wanted to tell you that because…” Leslie chokes on air, searching for Ben’s hand to grab, so he complies, squeezing gently. “Because… not long ago, I watched the only parental figure I felt like I had left die. I watched the life leave his eyes. And I felt really fucking alone, you get that? I felt like… I felt like I had nobody left to watch over me, like I really couldn't be a kid anymore. And I realized something.”

Marlene’s exhale is shaky. “What's that?”

“I realized that I still love you. And I still wanted you. I still wanted to be your daughter and I wanted you to brush my hair and kiss my cheek. I wanted you to hold me and help take the pain away in that way that mothers do. I  _ wanted  _ you to be my mother, more than anything. I didn't want to give up on that, even after all this time. I… I still don't.”

And now it's Marlene’s turn to cry, the mascara running down her cheeks, and she doesn't even care that her makeup is ruined. “God, I… I was so scared the whole time. I thought I lost you. After that damned funeral I just sat there thinking I was the worst mother in the world—”

“Maybe you were,” Leslie interrupts. “But I’ve learned that’s the great thing about  _ time—  _ with it, we can always get better.”

“If you'll allow me.”

Leslie smiles. “If you'll sing the song.”

The collapse onto each other, her hand leaving Ben’s, and he allows them this moment. It was worth it, really, every call, every moment he begged her, just to show up here for her daughter. Just to show up to  _ one  _ event that isn't her funeral, to be a mother, to show and receive love in return and prove to them all once and for all that things can and  _ will  _ get better.

And like a fire in his heart, there's that spark of hope again. Only stronger this time, and smelling of beautiful things, and singing a gentle melody that Leslie and Marlene whisper into each other’s ears as they sway on the spot to take away the pain:

_ You are my sunshine, _

_ My only sunshine. _

_ You make me happy _

_ When skies are grey. _

_ You’ll never know, dear, _

_ How much I love you. _

_ So please don't take _

_ My sunshine away. _

***

Leslie looks beautiful in the sunset.

It shines on her as she walks the stage, Ben waiting on the other side. She shakes Chris’s hand and accepts her diploma and smiles for the camera, and Ben can't help the tears that escape him.

But it's her speech that will truly live with him forever.

Particularly the ending.

_ “As we prepare to leave these halls and part ways and say our final goodbyes, we can't help but remember the time we spent here. Every laugh, every tear shed, every new friend made. Every smile and shared lunch and every coffee stop that makes us late for class. We remember horrible teachers and the great ones, and homework assignments that made us want to tear our hair out. All-nighters and failed quizzes, passing a test that we thought we were going to fail. Slow dances, school dances, rallies, clubs, and councils, every event that will stick with us for the rest of our days. _

_ These are memories we can't help but hold onto, no matter where we’re headed to next. They’re memories that I’ll cherish forever, even the bad ones, because they're proof that I made it. They’re proof that I survived and I can do it again. _

_ It's going to be hard. Everyday it will be, and some days will be so exhausting we’ll want to collapse in bed and give up on life, give up on doing better, give up on doing more. It can be so easy to give up, so easy to do nothing instead of something. _

_ But every morning the darkness disappears and the sun comes up again. Every morning the birds chirp and the light shines through your window and the world spins, and it moves forward. Every morning, every sunrise is a new opportunity, another day to stand up and say ‘I’m okay. I’ve got this.’ I did it before and I can do it again. I did it yesterday and I can do it today. _

_ So I’ll chase that feeling. I’ll chase the sun. I’ll chase all things good and sweet and kind, I’ll chase the lives that touch my heart and the people that make me feel good about the world and my place in it.  _

_ Whatever makes you feel bright, whatever makes you feel strong, whatever the sun is to you. _

_ The sun will rise and so will I, and all will be well." _

***

There's beauty in chaos.

Specifically the chaos that results in happy years, bear hugs, and a feeling of pride that swells up in his chest and makes Ben feel like he's floating. Caps are thrown and songs are sung and there's tears, so many tears, and an announcement of a wicked Tom-Ralphio graduation party that promises to be infinitely cooler than the original one. Ben hugs everyone he passed by, lingering particularly long with Andy and Tom, feeling that absolutely none of this could've been done without them. There's a newfound appreciation for his two best friends, a realization that they're more than just eccentric characters and the sum of their parts, but real people who feel and care deeply, who hug him tightly and whisper that  _ it's an honor to call you my best friend. _

He shakes hands with Jen and he snaps a photo of Leslie and Marlene, who is overcome with joy at her daughter’s ceremony, with promises of a warm bed waiting for her at home whenever she's ready, she won't push. Ben is whisked away and he runs from a grinding Jean-Ralphio looking for his boyfriend, just to run straight into Mark Brendanawicz, someone he very pointedly invited, just to promise him that there's no more room in his heart for pointless grudges. They shake hands and they both apologize, and they part ways with a semblance of respect, and it's then that Ben realizes he really wants to see  _ Leslie,  _ just to whisk her away again one more time before the crowds overwhelm her.

He finds her, at last, hugging Ann so tightly he worries both girls might explode. There are tears in their eyes and he doesn't say a word as he approaches, only watching them, until Ann’s hand snakes out and grabs his wrist, forcing him into the hug.

Ben grunts as they make room for him, and none of them question it. Ann’s hand is at his back and Leslie snakes her arms around him, resting her head on his chest, and the most profound thing about this hug isn't the hug itself, but the feeling of  _ home  _ that it radiates, a sort of unmatched comfort, and Ben knows this is exactly where he belongs.

“Hey,” Ann speaks up, sniffling and wiping the tears from her eyes. “Do you guys wanna go to JJ’s after this? I think we could all use some waffles and some time to relax.”

“Yeah,” Ben says, reaching to grab Leslie's hand. “But, uh… mind if I steal her for a moment, first? I just… I have something I want to show her.”

Ann promises to meet them at the Diner, and Leslie is dragged along across the field, grinning as they go, unable to stop herself from being a giggly, crying mess. 

“Where are you taking me?” she asks him, tugging on his hand, as they leave the field and rush through the halls of the school.

“It's a secret,” he tells her.

Not that it's a secret for much longer, as they practically run up to the second floor of the school, not stopping until they see it. And as soon as it's in front of them, it's abundantly clear this is what they’ve come for, right in front of them in all its glory, stopping Leslie in her tracks, her mouth hanging open.

“The wildflower mural,” she gasps, the tears shining at her eyes again. “Oh, Ben.”

He pulls her onto the bench, sitting her right next to him, and for a moment, they sit in silence. They merely breathe, drinking in the feeling, the shake of each other's palms. And it's beautiful here, really, something he appreciated even months ago when he met her here for the first time. And he gets it now, why this is her favorite place, instead of actual wildflowers or a school classroom or her room or even a shady tree. 

It smells like new beginnings and kept promises and a  _ future. _

“I met you here once before,” Ben says at last, and her chin trembles. “Not long before school ended.”

“I remember.”

“There was a lot unsaid that day. A lot I wanted to say, or should've said. Definitely should've said. But I didn't, because I was scared.”

Leslie smiles sweetly at him, squeezing his hand. “It's okay,” she whispers. “I was, too.”

“I thought that I wouldn't be good for you. That there was too much bad blood between us, so it was better to just let it go and move on. I thought… I thought our  _ coming of age  _ moment had passed and all that was left was just… regret. I sat next to you that day with the intention of telling you all that you meant to me, but I didn't. I couldn't. And I don't want that to be this mural’s legacy.”

It’ll be different this time. They won't walk away feeling unsatisfied and empty, like they’d lost their very last opportunity. No, this is his chance to undo what went wrong, and he has every intention of making sure that history doesn't repeat itself. It was all rivers and roads to reach her, but now they're stopped, and they're still. And she’s looking at him in a way that betrays every single thought in her head.

She's shining. She's bright. And he wants to wake up to that brightness every morning.

“You're the sun,” he says. “You know that, right? You keep me going. You make me want to do better. And I love you. I love you so, so much, and I intend to tell you as much everyday for as long as you'll let me.”

Leslie smiles, and it's overwhelming just how much she  _ belongs  _ here, among the wildflowers, next to him, breathing here with the calmness of someone who has nothing to worry about. It’ll be another long and winding road to recovery, but there's a sort of beauty in the journey now, something they can do together, holding hands and jumping off cliffs and feeling  _ free. _

She leans in close to him as if to share a particularly important secret. “Well,” she whispers, nudging his shoulder with hers, “I guess you better keep chasing me, then.”

And Ben doesn't say it out loud, but he has every intention of doing just that.


End file.
